


Ring-Maker

by Lithos_Maitreya



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Character Study, Corruption, F/F, F/M, Gen, Magic, Magical Artifacts, Redemption, tinker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2018-11-23 01:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 109
Words: 283,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11392257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithos_Maitreya/pseuds/Lithos_Maitreya
Summary: Taylor Hebert had a bad day, and came out of it changed.Some parahumans can control bugs. Some can build advanced technology. Some can do unspeakable things to space and time.Taylor can make magic rings, wondrous metals, mysterious weapons, and may not be a parahuman--or, indeed, human--at all.





	1. Glimmer 1.1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on SpaceBattles. It now has a mirror on SufficientVelocity. I post chapters to those two sites every Monday and Friday within two hours of 7 PM GMT.
> 
> I decided, earlier today, to get mirrors for it both here and at fanfiction.net. Those mirrors will be updated two days after the forum mirrors are-so, Wednesday and Sunday. The reasoning for this delayed release schedule is twofold: First, the SpaceBattles readers often find errors which I want to only have to edit in two places rather than four. Second, I want to encourage people to take part in the robust discussion on the forums-SpaceBattles especially, where this fic was somehow the most popular story on the entire forum for five weeks straight, going by viewcounts.
> 
> I will not be including the translation guide to the Sindarin, Quenya, Valarin, Black Speech, and Khuzdul phrases and terms I use in this story. That guide can be found on either of the forum threads, but doesn't work so well in this context. It is kept fully up-to-date, and I add terms to it as they appear in the text.
> 
> My first beta, dwood15 on Spacebattles, only started assisting following Twinkle 2.2. My later betas trickled in around the beginning of Arc 3. I will credit them in each chapter they assisted with.
> 
> As of now, the early chapters are currently undergoing cosmetic edits to bring them up to my more recent standards. I'll note at the start of each chapter if it has been edited.
> 
> I think that's it. Without further ado, please enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @skyrunner for betareading this chapter. Glimmer 1.1 has now been edited.

_Ash nazg durbatulúk,_  
_Ash nazg gimbatul._  
_Ash nazg thrakatulúk_  
_Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul._

-x-x-x-

The grey light of the early dawn filtered through my bedroom window as I looked over my newest—my _first_ —creations. My teeth slowly worried my lower lip. _Some Tinker I am,_ I thought ruefully. _Can’t even use more than one of my inventions at a time._

I hadn’t _tested_ that, of course. The knowledge was as instinctive as it was certain. To wield a single Ring of Power was a burden; to carry two at once would have been unconscionable, even to the Ring-Maker herself. It would have left me a burned-out husk—if that—both in body and in spirit.

Shaking those thoughts away, I took the first of the Three into my right hand and turned it around in my fingers, watching as the light caught on the golden band. “ _Narya_ ,” I whispered—its name. This Ring would have the power to keep its wearer, and their allies and friends, safe from domination and despair—including master effects. It was probably a trump power, by the PRT’s classifications, since it would operate on other parahuman powers—but that was a woeful understatement.

In a slow, smooth motion, I slid the Ring of Power onto the index finger of my left hand. Its band was smooth and burnished and fit perfectly, seeming to pulse like a beating heart. In an instant, there was a rush of heat. Flame ignited and coursed through my veins, warming me from the tips of my toes to the peak of my scalp. _Narya, the Ring of Fire_.

A weight seemed to melt away from my shoulders. Winslow High suddenly seemed so far away. Emma, Sophia, and Madison seemed even farther.

I smiled, then glanced across my desk. The clock read 6:35 AM. Time to start my morning run. Staying up all night was usually a mistake, but with Narya on my finger I felt more invigorated than I would have after any mere night of sleep.

I was _ready_.

-x-x-x-

I tried to keep the smile off of my face as I walked through Winslow’s gates, and found I couldn’t do it. Narya was there, secure on my finger, as warm and nostalgic as the comforting embrace of a mother, and I just couldn’t help smiling at the absurdity of _fear_ in the face of that fact. Fear fled before me like some nocturnal thing, scampering away to its hiding place before the light of the dawn.

“Look at that,” whispered one of Emma’s lackeys—Julia? Was that her name?—as I passed a gaggle of them in the hall. “Think she’s high?”

“She’s got no other reason to smile,” said another snidely. “Not like anyone here actually _likes_ her.”

The malice slid off of me like cold water running against a steel blade. It meant nothing— _less_ than nothing. Malice was without value unless it was backed by power, and not one of these sycophants had any.

And yet I couldn’t really be angry with them. It wasn’t as though they _knew_ ; they were just children playing out a role. I flashed them a faint smile as I passed them and entered the classroom.

-x-x-x-

My good mood didn’t _quite_ last all day. I had to meet Sophia eventually.

She shoved me aside roughly with her shoulder as we made our way to our shared math class. “Watch where you’re walking, Hebert,” she hissed as she passed.

Had she been anyone else, I’d have given her the same treatment I’d given others that day—a smile, and no other acknowledgement. But as I looked at her, Narya tightened slightly around my finger in warning, and a faint chill wormed its way up my spine.

I wasn’t afraid of her. I _knew_ what it was like to fear Sophia Hess, and this wasn’t it. But, for the first time that day, I was suddenly cautious. Her eyes, glimmering with the same unabashed malice I’d seen in so many others, spoke of something more.

_Power._

Sophia Hess, I realized, was more dangerous than the rest of Winslow High’s population put together.

And I was her target.

Fuck.

-x-x-x-

Lunchtime came. Rather than cause myself trouble by trying to avoid notice in the cafeteria, I brought my food into the third floor girls’ bathroom and started to eat my packed pita wrap in one of the toilet stalls.

It wasn’t exactly what I’d call five-star ambiance, but then, neither was anywhere in the shithole that was Winslow High. Nor were many places, here in Brockton Bay.

Unfortunately, my peaceful lunch was not to be. I was about halfway through my wrap when I heard a gaggle of girls enter the room with a giggling and a chattering to wake the dead. I recognized the voices—these were girls who took an active part in my torment.

There were six stalls in the third-floor girls’ bathroom. There were six girls’ bathrooms throughout Winslow. So there was no doubt in my mind, when they knocked on the door of my stall, that they were looking for me.

I waited for the second knock before I sighed. “Occupied.”

“Oh my God, it’s Taylor!” one of them shrieked.

 _How many bathrooms had you already checked?_ I wondered, but didn’t bother to say aloud. Instead, I slipped my unfinished pita back into its bag, stood up, and undid the lock.

“Do it,” another girl said in response to a whisper.

There was a thump on the door just as I touched the handle. A gentle push failed to open it.

My lips twisted as I heard somebody squirm, as though stretching to reach a height. They were going to toss, or pour, something over the top of the door.

 _Well_. Narya tightened gently over my finger. There was being _non-confrontational_ , and then there was being _weak_. I was more than happy to do the former, but the latter did not sit well with me

Narya flared with power, augmenting my strength as I pushed the door open. I heard a startled cry as it bowled over both the girl who’d been holding it shut _and_ the girl that had stood on her toes to pour—a can of cranberry juice, apparently—onto my head.

The red liquid spread across the floor as I appraised them, my lips twisted into what was probably a vaguely disapproving look. “Really?” I was less angry than annoyed. “You couldn’t think of a better use for cranberry juice?”

They blinked up at me, the juice spreading into one girl’s hair. I took pity on her and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the puddle. “You’ll want to wash your hair,” I advised sagely, nodding at the mess. “That stuff sticks, you know?”

They stared at me, blinking, without reply. After a few moments, I shrugged. “Well, anyway. Unless you want to try that again, I’m off. Done with lunch anyway.”

I turned and walked out of the bathroom, waving nonchalantly behind me as the door shut. Vaguely I registered that this would seem out of character for me… but really, what could they do to me?

Sophia was dangerous, it was true, but the rest weren’t. Not any more. I had Narya. I wouldn’t be trapped in any lockers ever again.

Still, that girl hadn’t had a handbag with her. No soap. Juice in one’s hair was no joke—she’d be glad to get some help.

I made my way into the cafeteria and slipped through the crowd. They parted to allow me passage, often without even noticing they were doing it.

I flowed through them to the middle of the room, where Emma and Madison were sitting across from Sophia, talking merrily.

I came up behind the two. Sophia started as she saw me approaching.

“Hebert,” she said, and there was a wary edge to her voice. “You’re… here.”

There was an odd note in her words, I noticed, and Narya tightened around my finger, but I ignored it. “Emma, Madison,” I said, my voice low and casual. “A friend of yours got cranberry juice in her hair in the third floor bathroom. I told her to wash it, but that stuff sticks. Do you happen to have something to help her? You know, soap or shampoo?”

“What’s it to you, loser?” Madison asked, sneering.

“Nothing, but I’m sure she’d be grateful for a bit of help getting cleaned up before class.” I smiled at her before turning to leave.

“Wait a minute,” Emma hissed, standing up. “You think you can just walk up to us like that and tell us what to do?”

I frowned at her. Not an angry, thunderous frown, which would take more effort than it was worth, but just a blank frown of bemusement. “Well, since the cranberry juice in _her_ hair was supposed to go in _mine_ , I don’t really care whether you help her or not. I just thought I’d let you know.”

I turned and left. No one stopped me. It struck me, later, how strange that was.

Not that they _could_ have stopped me, of course. But they’d usually have tried.

-x-x-x-

I considered the three Rings before me, arranged in a small triangle on my desk. Already I itched to put Narya back on. Without it my body felt weak; my spirit, even weaker.

But there were two more Rings to experiment with, and today was Friday. I _could_ wait for Monday to give the other two a proper test run, but something in me rebelled at the delay.

No. I was a cape. I was a _superhero_. I’d damn well act like it.

With a thought, my silver—no, _mithril_ —hammer appeared in my right hand, and I turned to find the mithril anvil behind my chair. My power allowed me to summon them at any time, although neither was visible to other people around me.

(Learning that had made for a long and slightly embarrassing story. I’d been forging the Three downstairs in the afternoon, thinking Dad would be home late, when he’d walked in just as I raised my hammer over the anvil. He’d seen neither and had, in fact, walked around the anvil _without noticing_ on his way to the kitchen. Stranger powers were... strange.)

I passed my left hand over the anvil’s smooth surface, thinking. The Three had been the first designs to come into my head, but as I’d considered the need for a costume over the past weeks, more had risen in my mind: armor forged of mithril, platemail made to look like folded, silver leaves. It would be light as a feather, and harder than steel.

I crossed my bedroom, reached into the closet, and pulled out the beginnings of my armor. The breastplate and backplate were done, as were the boots and the leggings up to the knees. My thighs would be exposed if I went out in this, although my hips would be at least partly protected by the tassets.

That was good enough for a cape’s first night out, I figured. Especially a cape bearing one of the Three.

One thing, however, was missing.

I smiled and took some of the metal junk and scrap I’d been salvaging over the past months back to my desk. I grabbed the long lighter I always kept there, lit it, and set it on the anvil, with the flame facing into the pile of scrap. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and began to strike at the twisted fragments with slow, steady blows from my hammer.

Bit by bit, the rusted metal began to transform—the tarnished steel and iron transmuting itself into bright mithril, reshaping into the form I desired. It would have been much faster if I had access to a fire hotter than a damn _lighter_ , but a proper forge wasn't exactly something I could order online for a hundred bucks.

I was at it for hours, although I only occasionally noted the passing time. I greeted my Dad when he got home, and even went downstairs for a quick hug before returning to work. I went down again for dinner about half an hour later.

I hammered away at the metal until the early hours of the morning, but when I was done, I knew it had been worth it.

The shining silver helmet in my hands seemed to cast a glow as soft and luminous as the moonlight streaming in through the window—but where the moon lit only a thin strip of my floor, the helm’s light seemed to spill over every surface in my bedroom. I turned it over in my hands and, after a moment, slipped it onto my head.

It fit perfectly, as I knew it would, but there was one more thing I wanted to try. I took it off, gathered up my long hair, and threaded it through the hole in the back as I put it on again, so that my hair ran down it like a plume.

The front of the helmet covered the skin around my eyes and nose like a store-bought domino mask, but infinitely higher in quality. I crept out of my room and slipped into the bathroom to study myself in the mirror.

I closed the door gently behind me, flicked on the lights, and was struck dumb, blinking at the unfamiliar visage in the mirror.

Nothing had _changed_ besides the fact that I was wearing a mithril helmet. And yet, somehow, my too-wide mouth fit perfectly into the space between the side panels, and my large eyes seemed almost to shine from within behind the mithril plate. My pale skin, rather than being washed out by the glow of the metal, seemed instead to subsume its incandescence, it too glowing with starlight.

I never wanted to take this helmet off. I hadn’t felt this good about my appearance in… well, ever.

I smiled, and the radiant person in the mirror smiled back. Sure, she was a little blurry without my glasses, but any of the Three would work in place of those.

Well, that settled it. Tomorrow, on Saturday, I would take up the mantle of a superhero for the first time.

A glance at the clock cut my musings short. For _now_ , however, it was almost four in the morning, and in just two and a half hours, I would need to be rested for my run.


	2. Glimmer 1.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Carluun and @Lorostan for betareading.

My eyes were still fluttering open as I groggily fumbled for my alarm, shaking myself out of slumber.

_ Run. Yes. Good. _

I gracelessly fell out of bed and stumbled over to my desk. As I opened the drawer, I screwed my eyes closed and opened them again to clear away the fog. The Three Rings of Power glinted in the half-light, shining like stars before me. Narya I now knew—it was time to try one of the other two.

“ _ Nenya _ ,” I decided, running my fingertips along the the mithril-and-diamond band. This Ring would have the power to protect, preserve, and conceal, as well as defend its wearer from most Masters.

I slipped Nenya onto the index finger of my left hand and immediately felt refreshed, as if I had just bathed in and drank from a cool mountain stream. Clearest water ran through me, rushing through my bloodstream, cleansing, purifying, and fortifying.  _ Nenya, the Ring of Water _ .

A smile spread across my face. I bounced on the balls of my feet, reveling in the smooth grace I felt in every muscle. Then I rolled my shoulders, turned, and dashed out of the room, my feet making barely a sound on the wooden floor.

* * *

 

Dad was awake when I got back. “I didn’t hear you leave,” he told me over the sound of frying eggs. “Have a good run?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s getting easier every day. Too easy, even. I should maybe start earlier, or go for another run in the afternoon.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying it, but don’t you think starting even earlier might be pushing it?” Dad’s brows were furrowed and the corners of his mouth were turned down in worry. “It’s already still dark out when you leave.”

“True,” I admitted. Of course, with a Ring of Power on my finger, I wasn’t exactly afraid of muggers or petty criminals.  _ Even so, there’s no reason to worry Dad. _ “You’re probably right. Maybe I’ll go for a run after school instead.”

“How is school, by the way?” Dad asked hesitating slightly on the question as he brought the skillet of scrambled eggs over to the table and set them down. “Still the same?”

I shrugged and gave him a smile. “Depends on what you mean,” I said, serving myself a helping with the spatula. “They’re still  _ doing it _ , if that’s what you’re asking. I just….” I glanced out the window for a moment.

_ Do I tell him? _

Nenya curled comfortingly around my finger. Not advising me; simply promising support regardless.

“I… had a bit of an epiphany yesterday,” I said eventually.

“Oh, really?” Dad asked, a faint smile coming to his lips and clearing away the lines of care for a moment.

I nodded. “They really can’t hurt me,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “What do I care what a bunch of stupid kids say? They pulled off the locker”—I saw Dad wince as I turned back to him—“ _ once,  _ but they won’t manage again. I won’t let them.”

Dad looked concerned again. “It’s good to hear you standing up for yourself, Taylor, but what if they gang up on you?”

I smiled at him. “I won’t let them.” With Nenya on my finger, it really was that simple.

As I finished my meal, I thought about my plans for that night, and considered what I still had to prepare. Nenya was a wonderful thing, and my costume/armor was great, but if I was going to be a superhero, I needed a complete image.

I needed a weapon.

As I returned to my room, already summoning my hammer and anvil, I found myself smiling at the thought. I was a Tinker, and I had  _ ideas _ .

One such idea would see me going out later that day for a long piece of wood. Rather than buy an overpriced plank from a hardware store, I went out to the nearest park and grabbed an oaken branch which had fallen off of a tree. I brought it home to carve, and used the bladed back-end of my hammer to carve a long cylinder out of it, which I then sanded and varnished until it shone.

By the time I finished that, it was getting dark. I’d have to add the blade tomorrow.

I took the haft and hid it in the closet before dinner. I spent the rest of the evening rushing through as much homework as I could before I turned in early, around eight.

My alarm was set for midnight. When it rang, I’d pull out my armor and the half-finished weapon, and head out with Nenya.

It was time to be a superhero.

* * *

 

With Nenya, my footsteps passed like slow water passing silently over rocks. It seemed natural that I could leap from the top of one building to the next, or jump down a story without any difficulty. I crept above the rooftops at a crouch, drawing on Nenya’s power to conceal me from unfriendly eyes.

The night air was cool, and the faint wind coming down from the west kissed my exposed lips and nose. I smelled a faint hint of salt from the sea, as always, but mixed within it were the scents of the day, still lingering on the breeze—car exhaust, sweat, various foods, and sundry other smells. Nenya delivered these and other sensations to me with a clarity unmatched, save by the piercing light of the stars overhead.

There’s nothing quite like deliberately walking into the most dangerous parts of a nearly bankrupt city in the dead of night. My heart was beating just a little faster than usual, and I felt laser-focused. Excitement—and a shade of caution—thrummed across the fine membrane of my skin like goosebumps.

As I passed over an alley, the silence of the night broke around me. Voices rose up from below, and Nenya picked the sound out of the air and fed it into my ears. “—didn’t want to pay his dues, so we’re gonna take what he owes us. With interest.”

I was in ABB territory, so it was no real surprise when I looked over the edge of the building and saw four Asian guys huddled together. I glanced across the street. There was a small restaurant there, on the ground story, and the loft above it looked like the living quarters of the proprietor. No other businesses were present within sight.

I figured the owner had failed to pay the ABB protection money, and was now going to get robbed for it. Except, of course, that I was here.

Nenya curled about my finger. I agreed. I should at least wait until I was sure.

I stayed crouched on the roof of the one-story building as the gangbangers left the alley and stealthily crept over to the shop. One raised a crowbar as they approached the door.

That was when I acted. I vaulted over the low façade of the roof and fell the twelve or so feet to the ground. Nenya saw to it that my drop was feather-light. “You really shouldn’t,” I called.

They spun around, and  _ oh my they had guns _ . Or two did, anyway; the others were carrying long combat knives.

Later, thinking back, I’d conclude that even then I hadn’t been scared—not really. I had Nenya, I had my armor, I had my haft. There was nothing to fear from four gangbangers, even if one of them had a pistol, and another had a shotgun.

But I did stop and think.

“Who’re you, bitch?” one asked.

“Cape, obviously,” said another. “But alone. You’re not a Ward, are ya, or Empire? Just a little girl playing superhero, picking a fight with the ABB.”

A third sneered. “Big mistake, that.”

I smiled. “We’ll see,” I said, shifting my grip on the incomplete weapon and beginning to stride forward.

The pistol fired, and that was a surprise—I expected them to at least  _ try _ to negotiate before going for a kill. The boy who fired it looked younger than the others—perhaps he was new. He was grimacing in fear and nerves.

…Hell, I knew his face. He went to Winslow, didn’t he? Small world.

Casually, I slid through the air, the bullet missing my shoulder by almost a foot. “Like I said,” I told him, grinning slightly, “you really shouldn’t.”

“Shit,” muttered one guy with a knife. “Mover—dodges bullets.”

“Oh, I’m more than that,” I said quietly. “Drop the guns and no one has to get hurt.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” said the guy with the shotgun. “Like to see you dodge buckshot.” Then  _ he _ fired.

Probably I couldn’t dodge buckshot. But Nenya was the Ring of Protection, so I just gestured with my left hand and a transparent barrier flared to life around me. The shot impacted it with a muted  _ whoomph _ , setting it rippling in a hundred places, like raindrops on the surface of a pond.

I smiled at him.

“Fuck,” he said, sounding almost resigned.

“Drop the weapons,” I advised.

The looked at each other, hesitating, but after a moment they obeyed.

Suddenly, the world was swallowed up in darkness. A shadow seemed to pass over the night, deepening it to pitch. Even my sight, enhanced by Nenya to the point that I hadn’t bothered wearing my glasses, was muted to nothing. Sound, too, was obscured.

I acted. I threw myself backward and clambered back up the wall opposite the shop.

The darkness dissipated as I did so, and when I reached the rooftop I spun, my eyes darting from one place to another, looking for the cause.

_ There. _ Just outside the cloud of shadows, taking cover behind a dumpster, were three people—two girls and one guy, a little older than me, by their body shapes. The guy was clad in a white renaissance affair, richly embroidered, with a scepter in his hand and a pale jester’s mask. He was tall and thin, and his hair was brown. One of the girls was a blonde, wearing a purple bodysuit and domino mask. The other, with auburn hair… was wearing only a t-shirt and jeans, and a dog-shaped mask I recognized from the local Dollar Store.

Since she was astride one of three truly massive monstrosities, though, I somehow doubted she was harmless.  _ What even are those things? _ I wondered.  _ Projections? _

I leapt from one rooftop to the next unnoticed, approaching them. I heard them as I got close.

“—new hero, I  _ think _ ,” said the girl in purple. She sounded frustrated. “Couldn’t really get a read on her. My power just… slipped off of her. Hard to explain. It’s like she was… hiding in plain sight, or something.”

I considered that. This girl clearly had some kind of Thinker ability which should have given her information on me, but Nenya’s concealment had protected me.

Something to consider.

I quietly dropped into an alley near them and crept up behind them, hiding myself with Nenya. Soon, I was among them.

“So,” I drawled. “What’re you people up to?”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” The guy in white dove away, even as the girl on the…  _ animal _ whistled.

“ _ Hurt, _ ” she ordered.

_ Oh, fuck. _

The two other things— _ dogs? _ The girl wore a dog mask. Some kind of mutant hounds?—leapt at me. I ducked, rolled, and slid out of the way before diving back into the alley.

The dog-things followed me to the entrance and then blinked, glancing around, as though looking for me. I’d ducked behind a box, but without Nenya I’d have been easily visible and even more easily smellable.

“Stranger power,” said the voice of the girl in purple grimly. “We need to get out of here.”

I smiled and crept away a little distance before climbing back up the wall to the roof.

The darkness had dissipated, and the three had been joined by a fourth—a guy in all black, with a helmet like a skull on his head. “…did you manage to get into the shop?” the girl in purple was saying.

The guy in black shook his head. “I came as soon as I heard Bitch,” he said. “What happened?”

“The armored girl,” the girl in purple said. “She’s a stranger—snuck right up into the middle of us. We should get out of here. What happened to the gangbangers?”

“Knocked them out and left them there,” the guy in black said. “Sure we can’t make it into the shop?”

“Grue,” the girl in purple said darkly, “ _ I can’t get a read on this girl _ . All we know is that she took exception to _ their _ shoplifting. Do  _ you _ want to get into a fight with an unknown cape, who—in case you missed it—is  _ immune to my powers _ ?”

“No,” admitted the guy in black—Grue, apparently. “Okay, Tattletale, we’ll do it your way. Let’s go.”

Soon, all four were astride the dog-monsters and galloping away.

I let them go—I didn’t like my odds against four supervillains, even people small-time enough that my cursory research hadn’t turned them up—and returned to the gangbangers. As Grue had said, they were out cold in a head outside the shop door, their weapons in a pile beside them.

I quickly unloaded the ammunition from each weapon and then considered the four men.

_ I need a phone. _

How was I supposed to call 9-1-1 without one, after all?

Oh, well. I had alternatives. I fished in the guys’ pockets until I found a phone and dialed.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?” a businesslike woman’s voice said over the line.

“I’m…” I began, and paused. There was a word on the tip of my tongue, but I wasn’t sure why.

After a moment, I shrugged and went with it. “I’m Annatar,” I said, and the name felt  _ right _ . “I’ve got four ABB gangbangers out in front of…” I glanced at the store’s hanging sign, “…Toshi’s Noodle House, on Westbrook Avenue. They’re unconscious, and I’ve removed the ammo from their guns. Can I get a pickup?”

There was silence. “Annatar, you said?” the responder asked. “Is that a cape name?”

I smiled. “Yeah,” I said. “You won’t have heard of me. I’m… new.”

“All right,” said the responder. “Procedure with a cape’s involvement is to send a Protectorate member with the PRT. I’ll send them your way.”

“Thank you.” I hung up, tossed the phone back onto its owner’s prone body, and settled down to wait.


	3. Glimmer 1.3

I glanced up when I heard the oncoming motors. I’d been reclining against the wall of the shop, not dozing, but resting.

It seemed the PRT had arrived.

Not just the PRT, at that. I blinked, and suddenly there was someone standing in front of me. His costume was red, and stripes intersected on his chest to form a “V”. Velocity, Brockton Bay’s very own speedster.

I smiled at him. “Hello,” I said.

He smiled back, his lower face visible under the mask. “Hey,” he responded. “Annatar, right?”

I nodded. “These four were about to rob this place,” I said, jerking my head back at the noodle shop. “I stopped them.”

“I can see that,” Velocity said, gesturing to the PRT troopers just now getting out of their patrol vans. The men came forward and began to load the unconscious bodies onto the vehicles. Then he turned back to me. “So, Annatar,” he said. “Is this your first night out?”

I nodded. “I only got my gear into working condition today,” I said. “I mean, my spear isn’t done, but I didn’t intend to be stabbing anyone today anyway.”

“That’s good,” Velocity said with a chuckle. “Killing someone is usually a bad way to start a heroic career. I assume you are going to be a hero?”

“I’d like to be,” I replied, watching as the PRT troopers gathered the ABB members’ guns. I handed one of them the magazine I’d been idly playing with while I waited.

“Well, I’d say you’re off to a good start,” he said. “What happened here, exactly?”

“I was on the rooftops,” I said, “and I saw these guys coming out of the alley. Heard them, too. They were saying that the shopkeeper—Toshi, I guess—hadn’t paid the ABB his protection money.”

“So they decided to take it from him.”

“Guess so. I dropped down behind them and told them to stop. They shot at me; that didn’t work. I told them to drop the guns, and they did, but then someone else got involved.”

“Someone else?” Velocity’s voice sharpened slightly.

I nodded. “Capes—four of them,” I said. “Tattletale, Grue, and… Bitch, I think? And one more.”

“The Undersiders,” the Protectorate cape said grimly. “Small-time villain team. I guess ‘Bitch’ is another name for Hellhound. The fourth guy: was he wearing a white costume with a jester’s mask?”

I nodded.

“His name’s Regent,” Velocity explained. “He’s a Master, can control a person’s body. It apparently takes him a while to get full control, though. Bitch is another Master—she can enhance and control dogs.”

“I saw them,” I said. “Those big mutant things. Those are dogs?”

He nodded. “She touches them and they grow. I think it wears off after a while. Grue creates big dark clouds which mute sounds and blind you. Apparently, he can sense people on the inside. Tattletale’s a Thinker. We don’t know the details, but she loves picking out people’s secrets and taunting them with them.”

_I can’t get a read on this girl._ It seemed Concealment was for more than just hiding from mutant hounds.

“Grue put one of his clouds over us,” I remembered. “I tried to get out of the way, and got out of the cloud, then snuck up on the others. I guess I spooked them; they called Grue back and ran without finishing the shoplift.”

“Impressive,” Velocity praised. “You’re not hurt?”

I shook my head. “Bitch—uh, Hellhound—tried to set her dogs on me, but I got away.”

“Nicely done,” he said. “Not many people could drive off four supervillains without a scratch. Uh, you’re… Wards-age, I’m guessing?”

“I am,” I said slowly, watching him.

“Then, have you considered joining up?” Velocity asked carefully. “It’s dangerous for an independent hero out here. You must know that.”

“I do,” I answered. “And I have. I still am, as a matter of fact. Considering, that is.”

“Well, I don’t want to rush you,” he told me. “Just… be careful while you’re deciding, all right? We don’t get new heroes often, Wards or not, and I’d hate for you to die because you were going it alone. The Undersiders are just the start—there’s far worse things out here.”

“I’ll be careful,” I promised. “Thank you, Velocity.”

He nodded. “Do you have a phone?” he asked. “I can give you a number for Protectorate consulting. We offer it to independent heroes. And, if you want, I can put your number into the system as an independent we can work with.”

“Sorry,” I said, grimacing. “No cell phone. Maybe I should get one.”

“Probably a good idea,” he agreed. “If only so you can call for help if you need it.”

The irony struck me: I’d been denied a cell phone because one had gotten my mother killed, and if I wasn’t careful, its absence might do the same to me.

“I’ll do that,” I said. “I’ll probably get in touch with the Protectorate pretty soon about joining the Wards, if only to let you know I’ve decided not to.”

“Fair enough,” Velocity said. “Door’s open, though. Good luck.”

I grinned at him. “Same to you,” I said.

With that, we parted ways.

-x-x-x-

I returned home unmolested. I took off my armor and deposited it in my closet, stored the haft I was working on, and crossed over to my desk, pulling off Nenya as I went.

I sighed at the feeling of loss that came with removing the Ring. I really didn’t enjoy being without one anymore. I pulled open my drawer, placed it in, and then stopped.

_Why not?_

I shrugged, took up the last ring—gold, and embedded with a sapphire. I turned it over in my fingers for a moment. “ _Vilya_ ,” I murmured.

I slipped it onto my fingers, and suddenly felt light as a feather. A cool wind gusted across my skin, caressing me gently, cooling and tempering my aching muscles. My hair billowed slightly around me, and I found my eyes closing serenely. _Vilya, the Ring of Air._

I smiled and, Vilya still firmly on my finger, went to bed.

-x-x-x-

Running was not especially fun on three hours of sleep. I’d done it twice now. But Vilya kept me aware and alert, and even soothed the soreness and the aches that came with the exertion.

Breakfast with Dad was much the same as it always was; simple, calm, and lacking in real conversation. For months, I’d been upset with him for how little he understood, how badly he knew me, and then I’d felt guilty about it because how could he _hope_ to know me, when I told him nothing?

Now, I had distance, and strength. I could stand on my own two feet, and didn’t need to lean on him, so it didn’t hurt when he wasn’t there to catch me.

But I still wasn’t telling him.

I hammered away at the last parts of my leggings that day. The gauntlets, and the rest of my weapon, I’d finish over the course of the week. Then I did my homework—with Vilya keeping my thoughts clear and sharp, it was actually very fast—and by that time it was dinner.

Over dinner, I thought about whether I should go out that night. Vilya hadn’t _really_ been tested yet; I could get that out of the way tonight and then go to school tomorrow with whichever Ring I thought most suitable.

On the other hand, I kind of wanted to stay cautious. My armor was mostly done—all I needed now was gauntlets—but my weapon still wasn’t, and I had no support. Independents had a bad habit of dying quickly in Brockton Bay, and dying didn’t sound good, not when I had so much more to build.

I’d had a close shave with the Undersiders last night. What if, next time, it was Kaiser? Or Lung?

Also, the scrap-metal I was transmuting into mithril _really_ wasn’t cutting it. I could transmute any metal into mithril, but purer, stronger ones were easier to work and took less time. I had a feeling the mithril I’d make that way was stronger, too. If I had a steady supply of steel, I could build twice as much in the same span of time, and it’d all be much higher-quality.

But on the other hand, I didn’t _really_ need to finish my spear to go out. The haft was enough for everything I’d be doing with it. I wasn’t about to skewer people, even villains. And the gauntlets, while I’d like to have them, weren’t actually that important a component to my armor.

I’d had a taste of heroism, last night. It had been good. The rush of adrenaline that came with combat, short-lived as it was, and the pride that came with knowing I’d prevented a theft… I wanted that. I wanted more of that.

“Hey, kiddo, you all right?” Dad asked, interrupting my thoughts. He was looking at me, concerned, over our chicken and rice. “You’ve been awfully quiet today. Thinking about school tomorrow?”

“No,” I said honestly, stabbing a piece of chicken with my fork and taking a bite, thinking.

_Do I tell him?_

“I was thinking about the Protectorate, actually,” I said. It wasn’t even a lie.

He blinked at that. “Oh? What about them?” he asked.

“I was just thinking,” I said. “The Triumvirate; they’re basically three of the most powerful people in the country, right?”

Dad shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, probably,” he agreed.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Not where it counts. Because they’re still Protectorate; they still answer to the PRT, and to the government through them. Alexandria could crush the president’s head like an egg, but she still has to _listen_ to them.”

“That’s all about limiting people, isn’t it?” Dad asked, frowning at me. “If we just let people run things because they could beat up anyone who got in their way, it’d be anarchy.”

“No, I know that,” I said. “But… well, look. Capes have to go into the Protectorate if they want to be heroes. I mean, they don’t _have_ to—they can try to go it as independents, but I’ve never heard of an independent lasting longer than a couple weeks without getting folded into another group.”

“There’s New Wave,” Dad argued. “An independent could join them.”

I snorted. “New Wave is a family team,” I said, “and everyone knows it.”

“I suppose someone could make a new hero team,” Dad said. “Build it from the ground up.”

“And how do you think the Protectorate would react?” I asked caustically. “They’d see it as an attack on their authority. No matter how good the new guys were, the Protectorate would find dirt on them, bury them in bad PR, bit by bit, until they had to either accept status as rogues or villains or join the fold.”

Dad sighed. “All right, so say the Protectorate has a monopoly,” he said. “What’s so bad about that? It’s not like they can charge more for being _heroes_.”

I sighed. “Say a cape wants to do something else,” I said. “Like politics. Problem is, they’re either Protectorate, which means they can’t be _in_ the federal government because they’re answerable _to_ it, or they’re villains, which means the Protectorate won’t let them run.”

Dad frowned. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the idea of capes running the country, anyway,” he said slowly. “What if they decided, I don’t know, that normal people were somehow _less_ than them?”

I snorted. “Then they’d get shut down,” I said. “The other capes and the normal people wouldn’t stand for it.”

“Empire 88’s still around,” Dad reminded me.

I blinked. That was a good point. I shook my head. “Fair enough,” I said. “That wasn’t my point anyway. My point is, why does the _Protectorate_ keep that system in place? Surely they could change things around if they wanted to. Why are the Triumvirate content to just run around in costumes rescuing kittens when they could _easily_ be running the place?”

“Maybe they don’t want to?” Dad shrugged.

“Power,” I said, “always wants more power. Doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Dad said with a huffed laugh. “I’ve never really had enough power to know, kiddo.”

After dinner, I considered my gear, running my thumb over Vilya on my left hand.

_Power always wants more power,_ I thought. Right now, this city was in the grip of men for whom power was the end unto itself; people who would happily crush people like my dad under their feet if it meant even a tiny speck more power for them. And for years, they’d been running a campaign of aggression against the heroes and the innocent of this city.

_Not one day more._

Look out, Brockton Bay. Annatar was coming. Maybe I’d run into Kaiser or Lung, but with Vilya I’d see them well before they saw me. I was done being afraid of bullies.

Tonight, I paid this city’s scum back a bit for the hell they’d put me through. I knew for a fact there were villains in this city who were well within my weight class. I’d focus on them, avoid their betters, and _get to work_.


	4. Glimmer 1.4

‘ _Avoiding the capes above my weight class_ ’ was a really good plan. I was quite proud of it.

A shame, then, that plans seldom, if ever, survive contact with the enemy.

I watched from the dark of the rooftop as Lung addressed his ABB. “…the children, just shoot. Doesn’t matter your aim, just shoot. You see one lying on the ground? Shoot the little bitch twice more to be sure. We give them no chances to be clever or lucky, understand?”

I _knew_ this was a bad idea. I _knew_ I wasn’t strong enough to take on Lung, the Dragon of Kyushu, the man who’d held back the sea.

But I also knew that if I turned my back and let children die, I’d never forgive myself.

Vilya cooled my thoughts, aired out my brain, let me think. So I did. I could use a payphone, call the PRT hotline, but the payphones were all down on the street, and the closes one that I could get to without being heard was over a block away. By that time, it might already be too late to offer any assistance.

The guys would have cellphones. If I could separate one from the pack, I could get it off of him and call the PRT.

But I also couldn’t afford to wait until they engaged. At that point, it _would_ be too late to cut Lung off before he started ramping up. I needed a distraction, and I needed to hope it either got Lung to back off or got him to split his group. And in case the hope was vain, I needed to make sure the distraction didn’t compromise my location.

I glanced at my left hand, where Vilya glittered. _Well,_ I thought. _Here goes nothing._

I raised my left hand high, drew on the power of the Ring, and cast my thoughts outward, toward a nearby alleyway.

Light flashed, bright and pure, with a _crack_ like the strike of lightning. Nothing dangerous to anyone—just a sound and a sight to draw attention.

That much it did. The entire ABB group whirled towards the noise.

“You three,” Lung ordered, pointing at three of his guys. “Go see what that was. If you see anyone, come back at once. If you don’t see anyone, check the alley, and then come back. You have three minutes.”

He hadn’t even missed a beat. I wondered why he wasn’t going himself to investigate the probably parahuman phenomenon, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I leapt nimbly from one rooftop to another until I reached the one-story roof above the alley. The guys were just going into it. I swallowed.

Their guns were out and they were staying in a careful formation, going down the alley in a triangle. The guy in front had a shotgun; the other two had pistols.

I missed Nenya.

I tensed, ready to leap, and then, just as the guy in front passed behind a barrel—momentarily out of sight of the other two—I leapt down on them.

I fell on the shoulders of one of the guys in the back. He went down, but I came up rolling, and struck the guy with the shotgun with my haft. He bellowed as I hit him, and I _knew_ Lung must have heard, and that was _very bad_.

But I wasn’t dead yet. I struck him again, across the temple, and he went down properly. The third guy fired his pistol, and the round glanced off of my chestplate as I turned.

“Mistake,” I said flatly, and pointed at him with the index finger of my left hand, Vilya shining like a blue star.

A bolt of lightning—far too weak to kill someone, as I intended—arced forth and struck him. He flew backwards out of the alley with a strangled yell. Without sparing him another thought I turned my attention to the last guy, who was clambering to his feet.

I gently put my Ring-bearing hand on his brow and allowed the Dominant Ring to do its work. “You’re mine,” I whispered.

For a moment, our wills strove against one another, my mind reaching out through Vilya and meeting his halfway. But he was a man accustomed to obedience, a man whose will had systematically been broken down by Lung, whereas I was the Ring-Maker.

He nodded dumbly, ceasing his attempts to rise, his eyes staring up into mine blankly.

“Follow me,” I murmured. I heard the approaching ABB, Lung barking orders at their head.

I led my thrall out the back way of the alley and we ran in a crouch down the next road for about thirty feet before ducking into another alley. We crouched together behind a dumpster, and then I turned to him. “Give me your phone,” I ordered.

He obeyed, and I punched in the PRT hotline.

“Parahuman response, what is your emergency?” the responder said.

“Lung,” I replied flatly. “I heard him ordering his ABB. They were going to kill kids. Intersection of Fifteenth and Chesterton.”

There was a beat. “Very well, I’ve flagged this; Protectorate support is on its way,” said the responder quickly. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Annatar. I’ll try to stay alive. Gotta run.” I hung up and handed the phone back.

For a moment, I studied my thrall’s blank face. Then I made my decision. “Try to get into PRT custody,” I said quietly. “They can protect you from Lung—he’ll hurt you for disobeying, master or no master. If the ABB catches you, surrender to them; don’t try to fight or escape. Once you’re in either of their care, you’ll be free from my power.”

He nodded dully.

“Get moving.”

He left, running down the alleyway opposite the way we’d come. I took a single deep breath and then left cover too, making for the nearest fire escape.

I clambered my way up it and onto the roof, then jumped across the alley and onto the next. I could hear voices in the street, Lung snarling at his ABB to keep searching.

I couldn’t fight them; not like this, not without a lot more training, better gear, and a proper weapon. I needed to just keep quiet and hope the Protectorate got here before Lung either found me, or went back to what he was doing before.

Where would the Protectorate come from?

 _West._ The knowledge came to me like a whisper, Vilya shimmering as its power flared.

And where would Lung go to look for the kids?

_East._

Then my path was clear. I had to draw him west.

I moved across the roof as stealthily as I could manage, towards the road where Lung was ordering his men. Apparently, however, I was insufficiently careful. He hissed and shouted once—“Quiet!”

I didn’t dare breath. _Enhanced senses._ I’d had them myself not twenty-four hours ago, for God’s sake! I bit my lip and reached out with Vilya. Another flash burst forth from inside an alleyway to Lung’s right and some distance ahead of him—west of his location.

He hissed. “A distraction,” he said darkly. “They’re too afraid to face us. Ignore it! Let’s get on with things.”

_Shit._

I couldn’t move for fear Lung would hear me, I couldn’t attack because that was _suicide_ , and I couldn’t distract him because he’d caught on.

What did that leave? Stay here and pray the Protectorate would get here before Lung could kill his targets, doing nothing?

_Fuck that._

I stood. I saw Lung’s head whip around to face me, but I was already running—away, and to the west.

I heard him roar. I heard the whistling through the air as he leapt. I heard the crunch of his feet on the roof behind me. He was onto me now.

I dove off the roof and into the next street, landing in a roll, and kept running. He jumped down behind me and gave chase. I heard his guys yelling farther back.

Thing is, I had Vilya, and had been running three times every two days for months. Lung was a _fucking dragon_. They weren’t fast enough to keep up, and they fell behind.

The problem? _Lung was faster than me._ He was gaining.

I couldn’t afford to let him catch me mid-run. I had to face him at some point, because I couldn’t defend myself when my back was turned. I waited too long, though, and when he was a little more than fifteen feet behind me (I think—without Nenya, my senses were only a little above human average) I felt a blast of intense heat on my back, blasting me forward and sending me sprawling ten, twenty feet down the road.

I rolled over and picked myself up, facing him. He was advancing more slowly now, his brown-on-red eyes glaring balefully at me from under that metal mask of his.

“You picked a bad fight, little girl,” he said darkly. He was starting to change: his legs had shifted a little, tearing up his shoes as the ankle rose to form a digitigrade joint, and his spine had arches slightly so he was hunched a little as he approached, but he had grown, too, so he was still well over six feet tall.

I didn’t answer except by shifting my grip on my haft.

“Any last words?” he asked, but that wasn’t the only sound that came to my ears.

_An engine._

I smiled. “Surrender,” I said.

“You surrender?” he laughed. “You fuck with _my_ boys, in _my_ territory, and you think it’s okay because you _surrender_?”

“No,” I said. “I’m offering _you_ a chance to surrender.”

If anything he laughed harder. “What’s your name, little girl?” he asked.

“Annatar,” I said.

“Well, Annatar,” he said, fire licking around his clenching fists. “I’ll see your tombstone says ‘she ha’ ‘alls.’ ‘ow’s ‘at ‘ound?” He was still growing visibly, hunching further, metal scales growing across his body in a slow creep. His words were starting to become muddled as his face morphed into a snout, rabidly becoming incomprehensible.

“It sounds,” I said, “like you’re not surrendering.” I gestured with Vilya and lightning burst forth again, blowing him backwards.

I’d pushed a hell of a lot more into the attack this time, and it left me a little out of breath, but I was proud to see that I’d at least had an effect, knocking him stumbling back a couple of steps.

He roared as skidded, fire beginning to engulf his form, but I could see a light shining on him from behind me somewhere. I didn’t dare turn and look, instead bringing my left hand to bear again, Vilya glowing bright on my finger.

A blue motorcycle came to rest beside me and a man in power armor swung his legs off of it. “You must be Annatar,” he murmured.

“That’s my name,” I said. “Armsmaster?”

“That’s right.” The famous halberd was drawn and put forth at the ready. “Lung,” Armsmaster called with a voice like steel. “Surrender, and this doesn’t have to be hard.”

“ _‘Uck ‘oo._ ” Lung’s voice was little more than a brutal, animal snarl now. Fire lanced forth from him, launching at us in a blast.

Vilya could control the elements—fire, water, lightning, earth, the air itself… nothing totally drastic, like cracking open the planet or creating a vacuum, but I should be able to redirect a short burst of flame.

This was not a _short burst_ , it was a steady stream. Besides which, it was dragon-fire, and dragon-fire is immune to most pyrokinesis. So I did what I could do, which was to throw myself out of the way. Armsmaster did the same, diving in the opposite direction, and then charging.

His halberd launched a dart of some kind, which struck Lung in the gut. Then another struck his neck. Lung bellowed, but there was something off, a note of weakness in the sound.

Tranquilizers, I guessed.

Armsmaster slowed as he approached Lung, firing off another dart into the man’s leg. Lung fell to his knees, breathing heavily. I followed the Protectorate cape in, Vilya at the ready.

“Fuck you,” gasped Lung, his transformation fading rapidly. “This isn’t over.”

“I think it is,” said Armsmaster, and struck him hard across the temple. Lung went down.

I stared down at the Dragon of Kyushu’s fallen form, and then looked up at the hero. “Tinkertech tranquilizers?” I asked.

He nodded, turning to me. “You said he was going after kids?” he asked.

I nodded. “I heard him ordering his guys to shoot them,” he said. “Children, he said.”

Armsmaster nodded. “You’re telling the truth,” he said, and wasn’t there something odd about that phrasing? “Admirable of you, to try to prevent that. Bit stupid, trying to take him on, though.”

“I wasn’t taking him on,” I protested. “I had him running almost three blocks in this direction, headed for you. I only turned around when I heard your bike.”

“Oh,” Armsmaster said, glancing at the aforementioned bike. “How’d you know which direction I was coming from?”

I thumbed Vilya compulsively. “Minor precognition,” I said. “I don’t know exactly how it works. I just knew.”

“A precog?” Armsmaster sounded interested. “That’s a rare power.”

I nodded. There was a reason Vilya was the greatest of the Three, even if its powers did spook me a little bit. Possibly that was _why_ its powers spooked me.

“Velocity approached you about joining the Wards yesterday, didn’t he?” Armsmaster asked.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “Independents don’t last long by themselves.”

“Do you see why, now?” Armsmaster nodded at Lung’s unconscious form. “I can only fight him because I’ve spent a long time coming up with a specific counter to him. You wouldn’t have stood a chance on your own.”

“I know.”

“Then you’ll join the Wards?”

I bit my lip. “I still need to think about it more.”

“Look.” Armsmaster sounded exasperated. “you seem like a good kid, but you’re out of your depth, here. We can help you.”

“That’s what the adults tend to say,” I said flatly. “Doesn’t stop us triggering. You understand, Armsmaster? I got my powers because of people in the same position of power as _you_ , right now. Because of their negligence. Forgive me if I’m not eager to trust another one.”

There was silence.

“I understand,” said Armsmaster quietly. “You didn’t have a phone yesterday—I assume you’ve gotten one now, since you called the hotline?”

I shook my head. “I mastered an ABB guy and used his,” I said. “Hopefully he’ll find his way to PRT custody. I ordered him to turn himself in, and set my control to drop after that.”

“You’re a master, too?” Armsmaster asked.

I nodded. _At least with Vilya,_ I privately added.

A slight frown spread over his face. “You’re keeping something from me,” he declared.

“Yes,” I said honestly. “Shouldn’t I?”

“We’re not enemies,” Armsmaster said. “We’re both heroes, aren’t we?”

_As if it’s that simple._

“But not all heroes are created equal,” I said flatly. “Wouldn’t you agree? I’d rather not have my powers become public knowledge to everyone in the Protectorate and PRT, if I can avoid it.”

Armsmaster grunted. “Fine,” he said. “We’re going to have to get you tested when you join the Wards, though.”

“ _If_ ,” I corrected. “And I’ll be honest, that’s a big reason _why_ it’s an if. My powers come with weaknesses.” A phantom pain skidded a line of fire across my index finger, just above the knuckle. “Publicizing them just sounds like a bad idea.”

Armsmaster grunted and picked Lung up, slinging him over his shoulder. He started walking back to his motorcycle, talking to me as he did so. “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?”

“Like I said, I’m thinking about it.”

“Well, think fast,” said Armsmaster shortly. He strapped Lung to the back of the seat, zip-tied his legs and arms up so they wouldn’t drag on the ground, and looked back at me. “You may not get this lucky again.”

I smiled thinly. “I don’t intend to _need_ to get this lucky again,” I said flatly.

Armsmaster sighed. “I hope to see you in the Wards, Annatar,” he said, and drove off. I watched him go.

Then I sighed, stretched, and smiled. I’d rescued children from a murderer, and said murderer was now in Protectorate custody. Despite my sudden nascent dislike for Armsmaster as a person, I had to respect his efficacy.

Tonight had been a _good_ night.


	5. Glimmer 1.5

School was standard, for most of the next day. The girls were still trying to get at me with _words, words, words,_ and I was still having none of it.

I’d brought Vilya—despite its impressive performance the night before, I still hadn’t tested it in school and I wanted to see how it worked out of combat. It became clear really quickly that Vilya wasn’t Narya. I wasn’t practically busting at the seams with confidence the way I had been on Friday. But I wasn’t _weak_ , either. I was a buried boulder to Narya’s raised obelisk—more unassuming, but even less pliant.

But one thing was worrying me. Something had set Sophia off, and not in any way I wanted. If she’d just stepped up her campaign to physically harass me at every turn, that would’ve been fine. I could take that now, easily.

No, instead, she’d withdrawn a bit. She was still taking part in the teasing and the insults, but she never even came within arm’s length of me once, all day. Something I’d done, the previous Friday, had set her on edge.

Which of Narya’s powers had she observed? Obviously, I’d been behaving differently; was it simply my newfound confidence that had tipped her off? Or had she heard of my increased strength from the girls in the bathroom? Or had it been the way the lunchroom parted for me when I passed?

For now, I doubted it mattered, but something about the girl had set Narya off as well, and Vilya was responding to her, too. Malice, backed by power. I would have to be careful.

Not _too_ careful, though. I’d just faced down _Lung_ and survived. I could handle Sophia Hess.

I had computer class with Mrs. Knott that day. Once I’d done the assignment, which took all of three minutes, I started browsing the Web, looking for information on the local cape scene. Specifically, I tried to learn more about the Wards.

The local Wards were seven in number.

Their leader, Aegis, was a classic brute: flight and redundant biology, which he could abuse to become an absolute tank on the battlefield.

Clockblocker was a striker who could freeze objects, including other people, in time. Kid Win was a tinker—like me—who used lasers and a hoverboard.

Browbeat was another brute who didn’t have flight but who seemed to heal faster than Aegis did.

Gallant was _possibly_ a tinker, although there was some speculation on PHO that his power armor was maintained by another tinker. Regardless, he could apparently sense and influence emotions.

Vista was younger than the other Wards, but had been a member for longer. She could apparently bend and stretch physical space.

Shadow Stalker was a former vigilante who carried a crossbow and could transform into a breaker state which made her look like a moving wisp of shadow.

The Wards program as a whole seemed to be a pretty good deal, but then, it had _really_ good PR. Heroes were compensated both weekly and by way of a trust fund, accessible when they turned eighteen. In addition, tinkers—those whose inventions were replicable, at least, which wasn’t all of them—would sell their patents to the PRT and would receive compensation.

There was discussion on PHO about whether it was more that they _had_ to sell their patents, but that was probably no big deal to me. My armor and weapons were nothing special except that they were made of mithril, which only I could summon, and I _seriously_ doubted my Rings were replicable.

And even if they were, there was always—

I shook off _that_ idea. I really didn’t want to go there with my powers. I leaned back in the library chair with a sigh and thought about it.

On the one hand, that was an inflow of money—money both my dad and I sorely needed. It was also support, and possibly even a way to find allies to whom I’d want to give more of the Rings of Power.

On the other hand, it was a bureaucracy, an _authority_ , to which I would be willingly subjecting myself. If Principal Blackwell and the rest of Winslow’s staff had taught me anything, it was that authority was corruptible and, as a rule, untrustworthy.

Besides all that, I’d have to expose my weaknesses. I wasn’t stupid enough to think I was invulnerable. All it would take was one Ring stolen, one dagger in the back, one slash across the knuckles, and I’d be down. End of story. Having to publicize that my powers came from my Rings didn’t sit well at all.

I needed to think further. And I needed to finish my spear.

-x-x-x-

On my way home, I stopped at a supermarket and got myself a small, easily-concealed safe with a combination lock. It wasn’t a permanent solution, nor a perfect one, but I had a feeling something would present itself. Already I was having ideas for a mithril lockbox which couldn’t be opened by anyone but the owner.

I didn’t understand exactly _how_ it would go about being permanently locked, but I’d learned not to question my powers. The Three worked fine, after all.

“Welcome home, Taylor,” my Dad called from the couch as I came in. “How was school?”

“Not bad,” I said honestly.

“Really?” he asked, a smile spreading across his face.

I chuckled. “Sophia didn’t try to push me around today,” I said, and then frowned. “I’m worried about it, actually. I’m hoping they’re not planning something big.”

My Dad winced. “’Big’ as in…”

I sighed. “It’s not out of the question,” I admitted. “If they think they’re not getting through to me, and they’re _not_ , they might escalate.”

“What do you want to do, then?” Dad asked. “We could… I don’t know, I guess we could _try_ to take it to the administration again?”

I shook my head. “No, you don’t get it,” I said. “I’m worried they’ll escalate, but not because I’m afraid of what might happen to me. I just don’t want to have to escalate _back_.” I grinned at him. “They pulled out all the stops a while back. I’ve got some ideas on how I can pay them back, if I need to.”

Dad still looked worried. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, Taylor,” he said. “When they called me, after…”

“I know,” I said gently. “I promise, Dad: I won’t be getting shoved into any lockers or put into the hospital by those bitches again anytime soon.”

-x-x-x-

I spent the rest of the evening molding mithril into the bladed head of that spear. In all honesty, it was less a traditional European spear and more a Japanese naginata, with a curved blade at the end.

On the flat of the blade, I carved a verse in a flowing script whose origins I didn’t know. As I carved, I whispered the words to myself.

 _Gil-galad ech vae vaegannen matha_  
_Aith heleg nín I orch gostatha_  
_Nin cíniel na nguruthos_  
_Hon ess nín istatha:_

_Aeglos_

I pulled away the summoned hammer and chisel and studied the Tengwar inscription. _This is weird,_ I thought. _A whole language, now? Do other Tinkers get things like this?_

I sighed. It wasn’t as though it didn’t look fantastic. The engraved script seemed almost to shimmer blue against the silvery metal of the blade.

“Aeglos, huh?” I said softly, running my finger along the dull side of the blade. It was ice-cold to the touch. “You’ll do nicely.”

It was getting late, but I still had to bind the head to the haft I’d carved before. I did that with mithril bolts and some welding, and by then it was dark.

And now it was time to make decisions. Should I go out again tonight? Sleep deprivation didn’t seem to be affecting me too badly as long as I kept my Rings on. I could probably manage it.

Or should I contact Armsmaster and the Protectorate? Much as I didn’t really like the guy, he was right about one thing: I _needed_ a team. Alone, I wasn’t a pushover. With a solid group of Ring-Bearers behind me? I’d be _unstoppable_.

What was I so afraid of? Betrayal? I could handle betrayal, I thought. The only worry I had was that it would kill me before I dealt with it.

Realistically, though, was that likely? Did I really think the Wards could have stayed as a prominent, heroic organization if they were the type of group to take advantage of their members to _that_ extent? Sure, they might try to stick me in a lab and get me forging Rings for them permanently, but if that happened—

I bit my lip, but carried the thought through.

\-- _If_ that happened, I could always forge the One and make them let me out.

I _really_ didn’t want to, though. I didn’t want the One to be necessary. But they’d never done that to tinkers before. Kid Win, Gallant, and Armsmaster all went out into frontline combat just fine.

It’d be a good idea to downplay my Rings if I decided to join the Wards. Make them seem like ordinary, if powerful, tinkertech, instead of the fantastically broken artifacts they were.

Was it possible for me not to tell them about the Rings at all? Could I, say, claim to imbue my armor with powers, one powerset at a time?

I sighed. My train of thought was too far down the rabbit-hole. Crossed my room and stood before my window, opening the blinds and the glass pane.

The stars were dim overhead, and shone pale and stark in only a few places against the black. Brockton Bay didn’t offer much by way of stargazing, with the haze of city life and the light pollution washing out the sky.

I sighed, breathing in the cool spring air. Only one question mattered: _Did I want to join the Wards?_ In the end, no matter what team I joined or formed, I’d have to open myself to betrayal from them, unless I wanted to go full Heartbreaker and make myself a force of Ring-thralls. And I didn’t.

I really, really didn’t.

The Wards were heroes, but I’d had a hero once. Her name was Annette Hebert.

I’d had two. The other was named Emma Barnes.

Vilya glimmered, and a single star, bright in the northern sky, seemed to twinkle brighter, as if in response.

I brought the Ring of Air to my lips, closing my eyes as I felt the cool metal against my skin.

Could I do this?

I smiled slightly.

_Yes._

This world wasn’t good to heroes, and anyone who believed in them was slowly learning cynicism. Brockton Bay hadn’t had any hope for a long time.

I slipped Vilya off of my finger, crossed to my desk, dropped it into the lockbox, and slipped on Narya. The rush of fire, hot in my veins, invigorated and revived me, instilling a sense of purpose.

If the world wasn’t willing to provide heroes, well, I’d just have to _be_ one. The Wards were a start, but only a start. I had no illusions: the Protectorate ladder, with its bureaucracy, its rules, its rigidity, and its sense of _entitlement_ to the very idea of heroism was not going to be by career path for the rest of my life.

But it was a _start_. In the Wards, I was fairly sure I could find a few like-minded people, people who were tired of the bullshit and the status quo, people who were willing to strike out on their own in the name of making a change.

So that was the plan. Today, the Wards—tomorrow, independence. One day, perhaps, I could look out my window and not have to look at the stars to find beauty.

But the Wards were a government organization, and they’d never allow me to join without parental approval. I was sure they’d willingly employ some morally gray methods to _get_ that approval, if I asked, but I doubted that would be necessary.

I slipped into my armor. Only one thing was necessary now.

I left my room and headed downstairs. “Dad?” I called. “We need to talk.”


	6. Interlude 1a

“Dad?” Taylor called, her approach making the stairs creak. “We need to talk.”

Danny glanced toward the hall from the coffee table where I’d been signing work authorizations. “I’m in the living room!” he called to her.

Taylor emerged from the hall, and Danny felt his jaw drop. His little girl, who’d only two hours ago gone up after dinner, was wearing some kind of armor which seemed to shimmer silver, as though reflecting moonlight. In her right hand was a long spear, its tip shimmering blue, which she carefully held low to avoid slicing into the ceiling.

She came to a halt just inside the room. Danny Hebert stared, trying to find his voice.

“Don’t worry,” she said, and there was a laugh in her voice. “I have time.”

“You’re a cape.” Danny felt the quaver in his voice even before it emerged.

Taylor nodded, her bushy hair bobbing where it emerged from the helmet like a plume. “Yes,” she said.

“How?” he asked weakly. “When?”

“The locker,” she said softly, and his heart froze.

“Oh, Christ, Taylor,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, and her voice was gentle. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Danny ignored that particular lie for the moment. “And you… made that?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m a tinker, Dad. I made my armor, and my spear… and my Rings.” She knelt, carefully setting the long spear on the ground, before slipping her right hand over her left and pulling something off of her index finger. Suddenly he saw it—a small ring, made of gold, with a large ruby shining in it like a blood-red star.

“This is why you haven’t been afraid lately,” he realized. “This is why you’ve been so… confident, these past few days. You have powers. You can fight back.”

“Fighting back,” Taylor said, slipping the ring back on, “would be a _very_ bad idea. At least if I did it directly. Before, the best they could do was punish me for fighting on school grounds. Now? I could get charged with assault with a parahuman ability. But that doesn’t mean I have to _take_ everything, either.”

She fell silent, seemingly content to let her father take the affair in at his own pace. He tried to do so. His daughter, his sweet little girl, was a cape. A parahuman. A class of person who regularly threw themselves into life-threatening danger, whether for personal gain or for selfless reasons.

She’d been put under so much stress by those three monsters at her school that she’d come out _changed_. He’d known that already, but to have that change thrust before him in such a direct and concrete way was startling. Painful.

“So…” he stopped, trying to figure out what to say. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I want to join the Wards,” she said promptly. “At least for now. I need allies, and my options there are the Wards, villains, or trying to start up my own team. I don’t like the second option, and the third is too dangerous right now. The ABB will be gunning for me.”

Danny tensed. “Why,” he asked slowly, “will the ABB be gunning for you?”

She smiled wryly. “Because last night, I helped Armsmaster take down Lung,” she said.

Danny thought his eye might be twitching. “You what?” he asked.

“I went out in costume for the first time on Saturday,” she said quietly, evenly. “I stopped a robbery and scared off some villains. Then, yesterday, I ran into Lung and the ABB. They were going to kill kids, Dad. I couldn’t stand by. So I got my hands on a phone, called the Protectorate, and distracted Lung until Armsmaster got there.”

“ _You fought Lung?_ ” His voice was hoarse and weak with horror.

“And I _won_ , Dad.” Hers, however, was firm. “I _won_. Sure, I only won because Armsmaster got there in time. But a win is a win. I’m strong—I can _help_ people. I have to try.”

Danny fell back against the couch, his core giving out, leaving him sprawled and spread over the seat. “Please, Taylor,” he implored. “Be more careful. I can’t lose you.”

“Believe me, Dad,” she said with a chuckle. “I’d prefer not to die, too. Which is why I’m going to join the Wards. It’s the safest option for me, right now, if I want to actually contribute and not just hide away and do nothing. And I _can’t_ do nothing.”

He met her eyes. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, but her gaze still seemed sharp and clear. Part of her powers, perhaps?

“Just promise me,” he begged. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

She came forward and embraced him. “I promise, Dad,” she said gently. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

He held her, and she comforted him, and as nice as it was, he _loathed_ himself because it was supposed to be him that was the pillar she could lean on, not the other way around.

But Annette’s death had broken him, just when she’d needed him most, and their relationship had never set quite right. She’d been through eighteen months of hell before he even found out the details, and even then she hadn’t told him the whole story.

No, that he’d only found out tonight. His daughter has _powers_.

What was he supposed to do now?

“I’m sorry,” he said. He wasn’t even sure what he was sorry for, exactly, but he knew it was true.

“I forgive you,” she said, and he thought she understood. She pulled away and met his gaze. “I can’t promise ‘no more secrets,’ Dad, you know that,” she said quietly. “I’ll have to protect secret identities, and even classified information. I won’t be able to tell you everything. But I love you, Dad. Even if I can’t tell you everything, I love you.”

He sat up and embraced her, and this time it wasn’t her hold him while he tried to pull himself together; it was the two of them, holding one another close, relishing one another’s presence.

“I love you too, kiddo,” he said. “You want to skip school tomorrow, take a trip to the Rig?”

She smiled against him. “That’d be great,” she said.

-x-x-x-

He hadn’t slept especially well that night. Who could blame him? His daughter was throwing herself headlong into one of the most dangerous professions in the world.

But he did sleep, and he work up, as usual, a little after six in the morning. What wasn’t usual was that Taylor was already up, and merrily frying bacon and eggs.

She looked up with a smile as he came down. “Hey, Dad,” she said. “Seems like I don’t need to sleep as much anymore.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he asked.

“Yep,” she said, flipping a few rashes of bacon deftly with a spatula. “The Three seem to make me need only about four hours of sleep. Which is all I’ve been _getting_ , the past couple of days, so I didn’t notice.”

Danny winced at the reminder. “Promise me you’ll at least tell me when you’re going out alone at the dead of night from now on?” he begged.

She smiled at him. “I doubt it’ll be a problem,” she said, “at least for a little while. I’ll be a Ward, remember?” She pulled the skillet from the heat and turned off the gas. “Their patrol schedules are probably pretty regular, and I’m sure they’ll make sure you know them.”

He sighed. “I hope so,” he said honestly.

She served two plates of bacon and eggs, set the skillet in the sink, and brought the plates to the table. “It’ll be fine, Dad,” she said gently. “ _I’ll_ be fine.”

He grimaced. “I’m just worried, Taylor.”

“I know,” she said. “And that’s okay, but you don’t need to.”

“It’ll take me a while to adjust,” he said.

“I figured,” she said with a light laugh. “It took me a while, too. I thought I was going crazy when the designs first started showing up in my head.”

“Designs?”

She nodded. “How to make them—the Rings, and the weapons, and the armor,” she said. “I thought I was hallucinating, or losing my mind. Apparently that happens to a lot of tinkers.”

“They lose their minds?” he asked, startled.

She laughed. “No, they _think_ they are,” she said. “When the designs start coming. It’s… I can’t really describe it. It’s like something half-remembered, out of a dream, or another life. But,” she gestured with her left hand, and for a moment he thought he saw the red star on her finger again, “they’re real. They’re not a dream. I think that’s why I started with the Three—they seemed so fantastical, so _magical_ , that if they were real, it _all_ had to be.”

“You mentioned the Three before,” he said. “The Three what?”

“The Three Rings of Power,” Taylor said. “Sorry, I’ve just started calling them ‘the Three’ in my head. They’re three of twen—of nineteen. They’re the only ones I’ve made so far.”

 _Nineteen, or twenty?_ Danny wanted to ask, but the look on Taylor’s face convinced him not to. Instead, he took a bite of bacon and chewed slowly. Once he’d swallowed, he asked, “So, what’s the plan for today?”

Taylor’s face seemed to set slightly in determination. “Right,” she said. “We need to get my armor into the car—preferably soon, before people really start to wake up—and we should cover it up with a tarp. Aeglos, too.”

“Aeglos?”

“My spear,” she said. “It means ‘icicle’ in Sindarin.”

He blinked at her. “In what?”

She blinked twice. “Uh,” she said. “Never mind. Like I said: something out of a dream.”

He frowned at her. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

She chuckled. “I’m feeling fine,” she said. “Maybe I’m starting to pick up a couple of languages that don’t exist, but hey. Some capes have worse side-effects. Look at Case-53s.”

He grimaced. “Fair enough,” he said. “Yeah, we should probably load your stuff soon.”

She nodded and stood.  He suddenly realized that, through their whole conversation, she’d been eating quickly and had already finished. “I’ll start bringing stuff downstairs,” she said. “You finish up. Protectorate doesn’t open until 7:30, and we should call ahead anyway, so there’s no rush except to get my stuff squared away before someone sees.”

He nodded, and she left, bounding upstairs with infectious energy.

He looked after her for a moment, and then tucked back into his food. As he ate, he thought about his wife.

 _Annette,_ he wondered. _What would you do about this, I wonder? You always knew what to do better than I did._

He couldn’t help but imagine that Annette would have known just how to help Taylor through Emma’s betrayal, her trigger, her powers. Annette had been a natural mother, as though born to it. He just wasn’t that. He’d never _been_ that.

Looking back, how many of their fights were because he’d felt ashamed of not being a better father to Taylor? How many could have been avoided if he’d just gotten over himself?

If he’d been a better man, would that horrible, horrible day have gone differently?

“It’s okay,” Taylor murmured from behind him. He started, and looked over his shoulder. She was smiling slightly over the pile of armor in her arms. “It’s okay,” she repeated. “Today’s going to be a good day. Tomorrow will be better.”

Taylor seemed almost to glow, as if peering in as a ray of sunlight through a parting in the clouds. Despair fell away, shame receded, and all that was left was…

“Hope,” she said lightly. “My favorite of Narya’s powers.”

“What is this?” he asked, and his voice was awed.

“Hope,” she said simply.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she chuckled. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

He laughed, and his voice was raw. “It really is,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to be my therapist.”

She grinned. “I’m the one with powers,” she said, turning and starting to walk out the door, her armor _clink_ ing in her arms. “Can you go downstairs and grab a tarp?”

“Yeah,” he said, standing and taking up his empty plate. “Be right back.” And as he set his empty plate in the sink, he smiled.


	7. Glimmer 1.6

“Hello, this is the PRT information line; how may I help you?” It was rapidly becoming clear that the PRT put a lot into training its responders. Also, I was spending too much of my time talking to them.

“Hi,” I said, drumming my fingers idly on the table as Dad watched me from across it. “I’m Annatar. I want to talk about joining the Wards.”

“Oh!” the responder sounded excited, and I didn’t blame her. I doubted calls like this came in often. “Well, I’ll let Director Piggot know immediately. Procedure for a new parahuman joining the Wards is to have a minimum of one in-person interview here at PRT HQ. When can you have that meeting?”

“Today, if possible,” I said. “Any time works.”

“Are you not in school?”

“I took the day off for this,” I said. “My dad gave permission.”

“So, he knows about your identity?” the responder asked rhetorically. “That’s good—we require parental permission to accept a parahuman into the Wards, in most cases.”

“I figured,” I told her. “Can the Director meet me today?”

“I’ve already sent her a message,” the responder said. “If you’d like, I can call you back—oh, wait, I’ve got a response. Yes, she can meet you. How does 9 AM sound?”

 _An hour and a half from now._ “That sounds fine,” I said. “I’ll be there. Should I bring my dad? And should I come in costume?”

“Ideally, you should bring your costume but enter HQ out of it,” said the Responder promptly. “That way, no one can connect you to the guardian who’s bringing you. You can change inside.”

“I can’t carry my armor around. It’s too bulky. Will they be able to get it out of the car?”

“Oh, of course,” the responder said quickly. “I’ll have PRT officers waiting at… which ferry would you rather take?”

“The north ferry, if possible.”

“I’ll have a PRT squad prepared to covertly load your armor onto the ferry when you arrive, then,” said the responder. “Would that work?”

“That should be fine,” I said, smiling over at Dad. “I’ll be at the station for the 8:40 ferry, then.”

“Great!” the responder chirped. “I’ll get things set up on our end. When you arrive at the ferry, tell the officer on duty that your ticket number is… 80-459. He’ll help you load your equipment. Tell the guy at the front desk the same thing, okay? That’s eighty, forty-five, nine.”

“Eighty, forty-five, nine. Got it. Thanks.”

“No problem!” she said happily. “Good luck on your admission to the Wards, Annatar! I’m Kylie, and I’m looking forward to working with you!”

“Yeah,” I chuckled. “Looking forward to it.”

-x-x-x-

Dad and I walked into the Protectorate HQ together. The Rig was a veritable _fortress_ , on a level I’d only peripherally imagined. The force-field was just the start: tinkertech turrets, air superiority vehicles, and probably a whole lot more that I couldn’t see.

Honestly, I was a little jealous. _I_ wanted a big impenetrable fortress, too!

I chuckled to myself at the petulant thought as Dad and I approached the front desk. The guy behind it was talking to an armored PRT trooper, but he turned to us as we approached. “Hello,” he said. “How can I help you?”

“Hi,” I said. “My ticket number’s 80-459. Can you help me?”

He nodded, his blank smile unchanging. “Right,” he said. “I’ll tell the director you’ve arrived. You should have someone here to escort you in just a couple of minutes.”

“Thank you,” I said politely. “We’ll wait here.”

I led dad to the chairs along the sides of the lobby and we sat. As we did, he put his arm around my shoulder. “You doing okay?” he asked softly.

I smiled up at him. “I’m _fine_ , Dad,” I said. “Don’t worry. We’ve got this.”

“Ticket 80-459?”

I looked up. Blinked a couple of times.

“Dauntless?” I asked, still blinking.

I thought the man smiled under his helmet. “That’s me,” he said. “Please follow me.”

Dad and I stood up and followed the man out of the lobby down a side corridor. As soon as the automatic door slid shut behind us, he turned to me.

“Okay, Annatar,” he said, “before we continue, I’ve got to tell you a couple things.”

“All right,” I said, slightly stiff.

He grinned under his helmet—I could tell because the fabric that covered his mouth shifted. “Nothing bad, don’t worry,” he said. “First, because you’re a known master, the base was put into level 0 M/S—that’s master/stranger, by the way—lockdown the moment we got confirmation you’d walked in. You understand?”

I nodded. Of course, _I_ knew that I couldn’t master anyone right now, without Vilya, but they didn’t. Nor did they need to.

“Second,” Dauntless continued, “Every single person who was made aware of the connection between ‘ticket 80-459’ and the cape Annatar has already signed an NDA. Unless the PRT or Protectorate has a leak, that information is _not_ leaving this base unless you get a kill order on you at some point in the future. Which, seeing as you’re a hero, is unlikely.”

I nodded. “Thank you for telling me,” I said. “I appreciate the measures you’re taking to maintain our privacy.”

He chuckled. “We’ve all been there,” he said. “Two identities are hard to keep track of as it is—no need to make it harder on our Wards. The important thing is that those NDAs are _not_ contingent on you joining the Wards. You’re free to walk out at any time, and no one can reveal your identity legally. You understand?”

“I do.”

“Great.” He clapped his hands. “Now, do either of you have any questions?”

“I have one,” Dad said. “No one’s asked our names, I notice. Is that another privacy thing?”

Dauntless nodded. “A name’s probably a better way of finding someone than just a facial profile,” he said. “The less we know, the better, until such time as your… daughter?—no, don’t tell me—decides to unmask to us, if she does. So, no, I’m not going to ask your name, or hers. From my perspective, she’s Annatar, and you’re Annatar’s guardian, and _that’s it_.”

“Okay,” Dad said. “That makes sense. It must get hectic, sometimes.”

“It’s been worse before,” Dauntless confided. “Sometimes when a new Tinker is recruited, we need to close a whole road to get their stuff moved in. Annatar seems to be traveling light, for which we’re grateful.”

I chuckled. “Okay, I have one now,” I said. “Why did I need to bring my costume at all? If I’m already mostly unmasked to a couple of you, why not the Director and Armsmaster?”

“I mean, because why _should_ you?” Dauntless shrugged. “I think it’s mostly a legal thing. The PRT directors have to report _everything_ back to the chief director’s office in DC, so Piggot doesn’t want to know about your identity unless you decide to join up. This means that she doesn’t have to have an extra clause in her contract, basically. Besides,” he added conspiratorially, “I think it’s part of the recruitment pitch. They let you meet with them in costume so you’re comfortable when they make the offer.”

That latter sounded like a much more likely explanation to me. “Surely that’s a bit dangerous, though?” I asked. “What if a cape used the admissions procedure to get a shot at the Director, or Armsmaster?”

Dauntless raised an eyebrow at me. “Careful asking questions like that, Annatar,” he said lightly. “Wouldn’t want us getting suspicious. To answer your question, though, the office you’ll be meeting them in is on a hair-trigger to flood with containment foam if you make a threatening move. Obviously it’s not _safe_ , because this is _capes_ we’re talking about, but it’s not exactly a prime shot at the Director either.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Oh, uh, I’m _not_ planning to assassinate the Director. Just in case you were wondering.”

He laughed. “I wasn’t,” he said, “but thanks for letting me know. Come on, your costume’s this way.”

He led us down the corridor and into a small room. On a counter against one wall, my armor was laid out.

“Do you need us to step out?” Dauntless asked politely.

“Nah,” I said. “I’ll put it on over my clothes. Just give me a moment.”

Piece by piece the bright mithril armor covered my scrawny frame. Piece by piece, Taylor dropped away, and Annatar came to the fore. First the boots, then the thighs, then the tassets and plateskirt, then the chestplate and backplate. Then I slipped my arms into the upper armguards, and then the lower armguards.

I still didn’t have my gauntlets. Fuck.

I gathered up my hair deftly and slipped it through the hole in the back of my helmet, then took up Aeglos in my right hand.

I turned back to Dauntless and Dad. “There,” I said. Do I look like a cape now?”

Dauntless snorted. “Well, I’m jealous,” he said. “think you could make me some of that?”

I grinned. “Maybe,” I said. “We’ll talk about it once I’m a Ward. Now what?”

“Now,” he said, “I take you to the Director’s office. You’re going to have to leave the spear outside, I’m sorry to say.”

“I figured.”

-x-x-x-

Director Piggot was a large woman. That was what struck me first. It wasn’t that I was unaccustomed to seeing people who were overweight, or even that she was all that fat—I’d know plenty of much heavier people—it was that _this_ was the woman in charge of the local branch of a sanctioned paramilitary outfit.

Her hair was bleached blonde, and her skin was an unhealthy pale. Then I met her eyes—as hard and grey as steel.

Suddenly, her position made a great deal more sense.

“Annatar,” she said. Armsmaster gave me a nod from behind her. “Come in, sit down. Your guardian is outside?”

“He is.”

“Good. I’m sure you understand—neither Armsmaster nor I want to so much as _see_ him until we know whether or not you’re interested in joining the Wards.”

“I am,” I told her firmly.

“Truth,” Armsmaster confirmed. A lie-detector of some kind, I imagined—no wonder he’d detected my dodges two nights ago.

“Good,” said Piggot, “but it’s not that simple. Why do you want to join the Wards?”

I took a deep breath. “Short answer, I want to be a hero.”

“Truth,” Armsmaster said.

“And the long answer?”

“I need a team,” I said simply. “I need a team of people who I can trust to have my back, because my powers are _made_ for group work. I didn’t want to be a villain, New Wave is a family team, and none of the other independent heroes in this city have enough members or real viability to give me what I need.”

“All true.”

“So we’re your last resort?” Piggot’s voice was a little hard now.

I snorted. “Technically you were my _first_ resort, since I haven’t approached anyone else yet,” I said. “But if you’re asking whether I buy into all your rose-tinted PR materials and advertisements, the answer is no.”

“Truth.”

“Care to explain why? What don’t you like about us?”

I bit my lip. “I’ve had… bad experiences with adults who were supposed to be in charge of me,” I said. “Organizations responsible for me. I don’t trust them, as a rule.”

“Truth,” said Armsmaster.

“What kind of bad experiences?”

“My trigger event, for one.”

A moment of silence.

“Truth,” said Armsmaster flatly. “Could you please explain?”

I grimaced. “I’d rather do it after we decided whether I was joining up,” I said. “It would… probably unmask me.” The locker had been all over the news. It wouldn’t take long for them to connect ‘girl shoved in a locker and put into a psych ward for trauma’ to ‘Taylor Hebert.’

“Truth,” Armsmaster said. “Director?”

Piggot nodded. “Now, you told Armsmaster you were a master on Sunday night. Can you explain you master powers?”

“The first thing you need to know about my powers,” I said, “is that they’re modular. I can’t use more than one… _set_ of powers at a time, and I can’t switch in the field. Not without setting something up that I haven’t done yet.” A pouch to hold my Rings _might_ have worked, but it might also have been an easy target, and the idea of Lung getting his hands on a Ring of Power because I’d been careless and it fell off my belt sent a chill down my spine. “I _can_ , however, give my modules to my allies. Or I should be able to—I haven’t tried yet. And I don’t want to until I really trust someone—personally. They’re not small powers.” I cleared my throat awkwardly. “So, uh, if as part of my contract I’ll be expected to hand those out to people whenever I’m ordered to, that’s going to be a dealbreaker.”

“All true,” Armsmaster said.

“The contract is negotiable,” Piggot said. “We’ll get to that later. One of your… modules… contains the master power you used?”

I nodded. “By the way, did you recover the guy?”

“We did not, unfortunately,” Piggot said shortly. “We believe the ABB retrieved him.”

I grimaced. “Damn,” I said. “I told him he’d be released if they got him, too, but I hope he doesn’t get too badly hurt over this.”

“Truth,” said Armsmaster evenly.

“I figured,” Piggot told him, and her voice was dry. “Can you give us any details about how your master ability works?”

I nodded. “I can… dominate weak wills,” I said. “I basically put myself into a contest of wills with my target. I doubt I’d be able to master either of you, but an ABB gangbanger who’s gotten used to just obeying Lung and never thinking for himself was easy pickings.”

“Truth,” Armsmaster confirmed.

“We’ll decide on what rating to give that later,” Piggot said. “is that all that _module_ can do?”

“Not even close,” I said through a huffed laugh. “Elemental control—pyrokinetics, aerokinetics, that kind of thing—minor precognition… probably a couple other things I haven’t tested. The Ri—the _modules_ ’ powers come to me when I need them, and I already kind of know how to use them.”

“All true.”

“Is that the module you’re using now?”

“No,” I said. “Right now I’m using one which gives me and my allies protection from master abilities and from despair, as well as enhancing my strength and giving me a sort of inverse-stranger power that demands respect.”

“Truth.”

Piggot exhaled a long breath. “Jesus,” she muttered. “You realize you sound like _Eidolon_ right now, don’t you?”

I blinked. “What?” I asked blankly. Then I thought about it. “Oh, hell.”

“How many of these modules do you have?”

“Three,” I said. “But I can add more. I’ve got plans for twen--nineteen in my head. Sixteen more.”

“Mostly true. Nineteen is a lie.”

“Twenty, then.” I grimced. “I don’t like the last one.”

“True.”

“Plans?” Piggot asked sharply. “Are you a tinker, then?”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. Like I said, I can theoretically give my modules out to other people. That’s because they’re made with my tinker ability.”

“Tinker 8,” said Armsmaster flatly. “At minimum. Also, true.”

“High tinker, at the least,” Piggot agreed. “ _Well_. You certainly aren’t a minor player, are you?”

“On my own?” I asked. “I’m just another fairly strong cape. With a team? I can be a _massive_ boost. I want to use that to help the heroes.”

“And that’s good,” Piggot said. “You’ll have to run through intensive vetting, obviously, but that can be done after we sign you up as a trial Ward.”

“Intensive vetting?” I asked.

“Master/stranger screening, non-disclosure agreements, and a more security-oriented interview with Armsmaster,” Piggot explained. “But for now, if you’re still willing, we’d be happy to accept you into the Wards program as a trial member.”

“I am. Trial member?”

Piggot nodded. “You’ll be allowed to be a member of the Wards for a trial period of one week, during which we’ll allow you to take part in all Wards activities, before you actually have to sign the contract. We’ll _give_ you the contract immediately, so you can look it over in the meantime.”

“I didn’t know that trial period existed,” I said, surprised. “Why isn’t it more public?”

Piggot smiled wryly. “Several reasons, the most pressing of which is that it’s recent. It was only put into place by Chief Director Costa-Brown a few weeks ago.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Do I still have to unmask to you?”

Piggot nodded. “We can’t get you in the system otherwise,” she said. “You’re willing?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Armsmaster, please let her guardian in here.”

Armsmaster nodded came around the desk, and opened the door behind me. I turned to watch as Dad came in.

He smiled at me, but he looked a little worried. “You okay, T—kiddo?”

“Fine,” I said gently. “Don’t worry about me. Nothing worse than I expected.”

“Please sir, sit down,” Piggot said.

Dad approached. Armsmaster shut the door behind him and came around to his old position behind the Director.

“Now, Annatar,” Piggot said. “If you’re ready?”

I nodded, brought both hands up to my temples, and pulled off the helmet. “Hi,” I said, smiling slightly self-consciously. “I’m Taylor Hebert.”

“Danny Hebert,” my dad introduced.

Piggot nodded. “Director Emily Piggot, PRT ENE,” she said formally. “Now… Taylor. You said something about your trigger event being caused by authority figures?”

I grimaced. “Not _caused_ , exactly” I said. “They just let it happen and let the bitches responsible get off scot free.”

Dad put his hand on mine. I took it in my fingers and squeezed.

“You don’t mind if I tell you now?” I asked. “I’ll be honest, I was hoping you could help me if I joined up.”

Piggot shrugged. “I can’t make any promises,” she said. “But if you want to tell us, I’ll be able to tell you what we can do.”

“Right,” I said, and took a deep breath. “Okay. I go to Winslow High, and I’ve been getting bullied there.”

“Bullied,” Dad said grimly, “ _really_ doesn’t cover it.”

“The locker incident,” Armsmaster put in. “Yes? We had that flagged as a potential trigger event.”

I nodded. “I was hoping you could transfer me to Arcadia,” I confessed. “I heard the Wards mostly go there.”

“That can probably be arranged,” Piggot agreed.

I sighed. “Oh, thank God.”

“Armsmaster,” Piggot said, looking over at the hero. “This ‘locker incident’—I admit I’ve forgotten the details.”

“I’ll brief you later,” Armsmaster said evenly. “I’d rather not talk in depth about a probable Ward’s trigger event while she’s in the room.”

“Do you think you could help us press charges?” Dad asked. “The school wouldn’t even hear a word of _punishing_ the people who did it—said it was Taylor’s word against theirs, and no one came forward with witnesses.”

“Unlikely,” Piggot said. “We don’t have any direct jurisdiction there, or over anyone who’s not a parahuman.”

“It’s fine, Dad, honestly,” I said. “I don’t…. If I can just get _away_ from Madison, Sophia, and Emma, I’ll be fine.”

“I know, kiddo,” Dad said quietly, looking at me. “It’s just… it _really_ isn’t fair.”

I snorted. “Life isn’t.”

“No,” Piggot said, and there was something dark in her voice. “No, it really isn’t. _Sophia_ , you said?”

I glanced at her. Her face, which had been fairly set throughout the whole conversation, had darkened into an ugly scowl.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sophia Hess.”

Armsmaster’s voice was cold when he said, “Truth.”


	8. Interlude 1b

Sophia stalked past the PRT mook behind the desk, her gloved hands fiddling with her mask’s straps. It was just after lunchtime, and she’d gotten the call from the PRT that the Wards were being called in.

 _Probably an assembly or some shit,_ she grumbled. _An announcement, maybe._ Still, she was honestly glad to get away from Emma for the rest of the day. The girl had been insufferable since Friday.

It wasn’t that she’d changed. It was that she _hadn’t_. Was she really that stupid? Did she really think antagonizing the Hebert girl was a good idea, _now_?

Sophia knew what happened when you pushed a new cape too far. It wasn’t that she was scared of Hebert—obviously—but if there was any class of people that epitomized the ideal of _predator_ it was the parahuman. It paid to be cautious when dealing with them.

She’d been relieved when Hebert hadn’t shown up to school today, at least at first: hopefully, she could talk some sense into Emma before it got to be a problem. But there hadn’t been a chance before lunch, and now she was stuck here.

 _I’ll call her tonight,_ Sophia decided. _Tell her we need to back off. At least until Hebert joins a villain group, and I can go after her properly._

It was part of what rankled so much when the Wards got rid of her lethal ammo. Yeah, sure, she could take your average ganger or mugger with tranqs, but how the _fuck_ did they expect her to deal with someone like Lung without proper weapons? The enemy wasn’t holding back. As long as the other ‘heroes’ did, it was only going to cripple them, and get them killed.

Especially if people like Grue were allowed to run around and interfere with the heroes’ powers. If Sophia couldn’t trust her weapons _or_ her powers, well, that was a really bad situation all around, and now— _thanks to the PRT’s bullshit_ —it was the situation she was in _every damn day out there_.

She found that she was clenching her fists. She forced herself to relax. It wouldn’t do to get Piggy on her case before even walking into the room.

She ran into Aegis just as she was reaching the elevator to go down the Wards’ section of the base. “Shadow Stalker,” he greeted politely. “You got any idea why we’re here?”

She shook her head. “No,” she said flatly. “Hope it’s not a waste of time.”

The elevator door opened. She almost wished he’d tried to enter first so she could shove past him, but he didn’t, so she had to settle for going in first and watching him follow.

He was watching her. “The PRT doesn’t waste our time all that often,” he said. “Think it might be a new Ward?”

Sophia grunted. “Maybe,” she said. “Doesn’t happen often.”

“Yeah,” agreed Aegis, “but nor does this. They usually only pull all of us out for emergencies. Now we’re suddenly all getting called into HQ during school?”

Sophia shrugged. “They didn’t call everyone in when I was recruited,” she said.

“Yeah, but your recruitment was… an unusual case,” said Aegis, avoiding the issue like the pussy he was.

Sophia rolled her eyes and said nothing.

The elevator opened. Sophia exited first and looked around. Vista was already there—she looked up when Sophia and Aegis came in. “Hey, Carlos, Shadow Stalker,” she called. “Seen any of the others yet?”

Sophia just grunted.

“No,” Aegis said, passing Sophia and approaching the younger girl. “Do _you_ know what this is about?”

Vista shook her head. “Armsmaster was in here earlier,” she said. “Told me we’d talk about it when everyone was here. He seemed… grim.”

“More than usual?” Sophia asked flippantly, throwing herself down onto a couch.

“Yes,” Vista said shortly.

The elevator on the other side of the room, leading from the south side of the base, opened, and in stepped three more of the Wards—Gallant, Clockblocker, and Browbeat.

“Dean!” Vista called, waving. “Dennis, Joe, hey.”

“Hey, Missy,” Gallant said, raising a hand in greeting. “Carlos, Shadow Stalker.”

Sophia grunted, rolling her eyes at Vista’s pathetic display. “Where’s Kid Win?” she asked.

“On his way,” Clockblocker said. “Carlos, you know what’s happening?”

Aegis shook his head. “Missy said Armsmaster was waiting until we all got here to tell us.”

“Well,” Sophia said dryly, “he’d better get here soon. This is a waste of time.”

“Nice to see you too, Stalker,” said Vista caustically. “How have you been? Meet any cute boys lately?”

Sophia swung her legs up onto the couch so she was laying back on it, and brought her hand up, middle finger raised at Vista, in the same motion. “Fuck you,” she said succinctly. “Oh, wait, sorry, would that be pedophilia?”

“Enough,” Aegis said, and there was an edge to his voice. “Missy, don’t antagonize her. Stalker, there’s no need for that.”

Sophia shifted her hand so her finger was facing her so-called ‘leader’ before lowering it.

The south elevator opened again, and in rushed Kid Win, still adjusting his visor. “Sorry I’m late, guys,” he apologized. “Had to make a stop at home on the way.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Sophia drawled. “Feel free to waste our time whenever you want.”

“Can it, Stalker,” Aegis said flatly. “Chris, it’s no big deal. Missy, did Armsmaster say to get him when we all got here?”

Vista shook her head. “He just said he’d be here.”

A door to one of the quiet rooms on the side of the area opened, and in walked Armsmaster. “So I did,” he said. “Thank you, Vista, for not telling them.”

 _Wait, he was there the whole time?_ Sophia blinked, then glared. _And the little bitch didn’t tell us? Fuck her. I don’t think I said anything too bad._

Vista gave him a thumbs-up. “So, what’s this about, boss?” she asked.

Armsmaster walked across the room and came to a halt right in front of Sophia. “Shadow Stalker,” he said, and there was something in his voice that set Sophia’s teeth on edge. “You will go into that room, alone, and shut the door behind you. There’s someone in there to talk to you. I’ll debrief your teammates.”

Sophia grimaced. “What’d I do this time?” she asked gruffly, sitting up.

Armsmaster shook his head. “No, we’re not having that conversation,” he said flatly. “In the room. Now.”

Sophia snarled, stood up, and pushed past him, crossing the lobby and entering the side room.

There was someone sitting at the table. A girl, in silvery armor that seemed to glow. She was white, and her brown eyes were locked onto Sophia’s mask the moment she walked in.

“Close the door, please,” she said, and there was something about her voice that made Sophia want to grind her teeth.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Annatar,” said the girl. “Close the door, now. You and I need to talk.”

“Close the door, Shadow Stalker,” Armsmaster ordered from behind her.

Sophia let out a growl, but obeyed, then threw herself into a chair across from Annatar. “So, what?” she asked. “You’re a new Ward?”

Annatar nodded. “That’s the certain part,” she said. “The uncertain part is what happens to you now.”

Sophia’s fists clenched. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Annatar said, and she was perfectly calm, “that if I choose, after this conversation, I can have you summarily drummed out of the Wards, taken off the streets, and shoved into juvie _at the least_. So let’s talk.”

Sophia stood up sharply. “You think you can threaten me?” she snarled.

“I just got classified,” Annatar said quietly. “Tinker 7, Trump 6. A few other ratings. I’m a valuable cape, Shadow Stalker, and the PRT wants me in the Wards a lot more than they want you.”

“Well, what the hell does that have to do with anything?” Sophia demanded. “Why would they just kick me out? I haven’t done anything!”

Annatar let out a short, sharp laugh. “Oh, you are funny,” she said. Then she reached up and took off her helmet.

Sophia’s world tilted on its axis.

Taylor Hebert shook out her hair and set her helmet on the desk. “Sit down, Sophia,” she said smoothly, and let’s talk.”

“No.” Sophia barely heard the word coming out of her own mouth.

“It’s in your interest,” Taylor said. “If you walk out now, there’s no hope for you.”

“No. No way. You? A Ward? A _hero_?”

Taylor snorted. “I said the same thing when I found out, you know?” she chuckled. “You? The girl so vicious and vile she thought shoving a classmate into her locker with a literal biohazard was an innocent prank? But them’s the breaks, I’m afraid.”

“No,” Sophia said, and some quiet corner of her brain registered that her voice was getting a little shrill. “No, fuck this. I’m not going to work with _you_.”

“Is that your final answer?”

There was something about how Hebert said that that made Sophia stop.

“Because, believe me,” Taylor said evenly, “I would _love_ to have you walk out that door right now and be unceremoniously arrested and kicked out on your ass. That would be _wonderful_. I owe you for a _hell_ of a lot of shit, Sophia. But there’s an alternative. Sit down.”

Sophia sat. She found, in a horrible moment, that she had no idea what to say.

Taylor folder her hands together. “Now, Sophia,” she said, and her voice was like silk—smooth and almost alluring. “What do you _desire_?”

“What?”

“Do you know what Annatar means?”

Sophia blinked at the non-sequitur. “It sounds made-up.”

“It’s Quenya.” Taylor chuckled. “Don’t ask. It means ‘Lord of Gifts.’ So let’s talk, and we’ll see if I can find it in me to give you a gift.”

Sophia twitched. “What are you on about, Hebert?” she asked warily.

Hebert smiled. “Take off your mask,” she instructed. “I want to see your face.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” Taylor said wearily. “It’s not as though I don’t already know who you are.”

Sophia snarled, but obeyed. The two girls’ eyes locked.

“Now, Sophia,” said Taylor. “Answer me honestly. What did you enjoy about what you were doing to me?”

Sophia bared her teeth. “Fuck you,” she said. “You don’t get to psychoanalyze me.”

“So you don’t know?”

“ _Fuck you_.”

Taylor sighed. “Let me make something clear to you,” she said. “I’m trying to _help_ you. God knows why. But I know this city needs heroes. If you’re willing to work with me, I’m willing to work with you in the name of making sure it gets them. But I’ve already compromised as much as I’m willing—I’m willing to refrain from pressing charges, I’m willing to let you stay, even though you’ve made my life _hell_ for a year and a half. I’ve already accommodated _more_ than my fair share. This conversation? This is you meeting me halfway, and the only person who loses if you don’t is _you_.”

Sophia gritted her teeth.

“Now answer the question,” Taylor said. “What did you enjoy about torturing me?”

“I’m a predator, bitch,” Sophia snarled. “Preying on the weak is what I _do_. The weak, the stupid, people who don’t fight back. People like _you_.”

Taylor smiled. “I see,” she said. A chill went through Sophia’s core at her tone.

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry, I’m straight. Try Emma. Now, why me?”

“What?” Sophia blinked at the lightning-fast retort.

“There must have been a few hundred ‘weak’ people in Winslow,” Taylor said. “Madison, for instance. Why was I the one you targeted?”

Sophia rolled her eyes. “What is this, a pity party?”

Taylor snorted. “Do you really think I give a damn what _you_ think about me anymore?” she asked dryly. “I’m trying to understand you. Trying to see how we can work together. So answer the question.”

“You were holding Emma back,” Sophia said, sneering. “Girl was _just_ getting a spine after that mess two summers ago, and then _you_ came back and you were weak as shit. So I tried to buck her up, get her to toss you.” She grimaced. “Then she got obsessive. Which was, honestly, kinda weird.”

“I’m going to need some background,” Taylor said evenly. “What happened two summers ago?”

Sophia sighed. “Look, I don’t have all day—”

“I think you rather do,” said Taylor in a voice about fifty times drier than sandpaper. “What happened?”

“She and her dad got attacked by ABB gangers,” Sophia said flatly. “They blocked the road with a dumpster, then pulled Emma out of the car. I saw it happen. At first, I was going to let them rough her up a bit so I could really cut loose on them—justifiable assault, you know?”

Taylor blinked evenly at her. “But?”

“Well, Emma got a spine,” Sophia said, a grin coming to her lips at the memory. “She tried to claw the guy’s eyes out. Sure, she wasn’t a _match_ for them, but at least she was trying. She was predator material. I saved her, and took her under my wing. Tried to teach her how the world works.”

“And that was this schema of predators and prey?”

“What, you don’t think it works like that?” Sophia snorted. “The strong _eat_ the weak. That’s nature, that’s life. Humans—and capes—are no different.”

Taylor seemed to consider that. “And then Emma seemed to have a weak spot for me,” she said. “So you cauterized it. And she learned to love the hot iron. Like a slave begging for the whip.”

“The _fuck_?” Sophia blanched. “Where did you come up with that shit?”

Taylor smiled slightly. “Oh, don’t mind me,” she said. “Now, Sophia, what do you think is the difference between a hero and a villain?”

Sophia snorted. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“One to which you don’t have an answer.”

Silence fell. Sophia’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and then she settled for a weak “You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I?”

Sophia couldn’t answer. Eventually, she forced out, “What are you, a Thinker?”

“Maybe,” Taylor allowed. “I don’t think these are my powers though. This is all me.” Then she smiled. “Now, Sophia, would you like to know the difference between a hero and a villain?”

“Fuck you,” Sophia ground out. “Heroes stop villains from breaking the law. That’s all there is to it.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

Sophia gritted her teeth.

“Before we talk about the difference between heroes and villains,” Taylor said, “we need to talk about a common misconception—the Protectorate, and the Wards, are all heroes, and everyone that’s labeled a villain is a villain. Neither of those statements is  true. The only thing that determines labels is PR. You were labeled a rogue because you got decent PR for targeting villains, before you joined the Wards, but you were a villain.”

“ _Fuck_ you. No I wasn’t.”

“You were,” Taylor said gently, “and you _still are_ , Sophia. This is your last and only chance to change that—listening to me here and now. Because I can tell you what makes someone like, I don’t know, _Panacea_ a hero, and what makes someone like Jack Slash a villain, _regardless_ of the labels people give them. I’m your only chance at this before you get thrown into juvie. If you listen, you can stay out of there, and get one last chance to be better. If you don’t, well, that’s one more villain off the streets. It’s your choice.”

When Taylor put it like that, it wasn’t much of a choice at all. “Fine, talk.”

“A villain,” Taylor said quietly, “is anyone—anyone at all, cape or otherwise—who thinks that the strong should prey on the weak, and that they are among the strong.”

“Fuck you.” _That’s me._

“A _hero_ ,” Taylor steamrolled over her, “is someone among the strong who _protects_ the weak. Being a hero isn’t about beating up bad guys, Sophia. It’s about _making the world better_. Not for you, not for the strong, not for the ‘predators,’ but for the _weak_. A hero is the voice of the voiceless, the song of the mute, the sword of the disarmed, the shield of the defenseless. _That_ , Sophia, is what a hero is. That’s why you’re a villain—to you, it’s all about conflict, about hurting people, about making the world _worse_ , even if it is worse specifically for people you think are bad.”

“That’s bull.” The words sounded somehow hollow even as they came out of her mouth.

“Do you have any better definitions?”

Sophia would have liked to say that the words stuck in her throat, but it would be a lie—there were no words at all.

“That, Sophia, is my gift,” Taylor said quietly. “I offer you that understanding, and this chance. You’ll probably get out of juvie well before you’re eighteen, if you want to. Then you’ll be out on the street, a fugitive with powers. A villain. _Or_ you can stay here. Deal with me. And try to be a hero. And I do mean _try_ ,” she added with a twisted smile. “No one’s expecting you to break years of habit in a day. But you do have to at least _try_ to do better.”

“So that’s it?” Sophia asked. “Hero or villain? That’s it? Just like that?”

“It’s the same choice every parahuman makes,” Taylor said. “Regardless of all the PR, and the mislabeling, and the speculation on PHO, each of us has to decide whether we want to take advantage of the people weaker than us, or protect them. We decide that right at the beginning. Sometimes, we change our minds. You made the wrong choice once, Sophia. Will you do it again?”

“Fuck you.”

“You don’t have to like me,” Taylor chuckled. “I know I’ll probably never like you. But you do have to choose.”

And Sophia did.


	9. Glimmer 1.7

_Immediately following Glimmer 1.6_

“Director,” Armsmaster said crisply, “A word, if you please?”

Piggot glanced at him, then back at me. “Annatar,” she said slowly, “if you and your father could please step outside?”

I considered her. “You know something,” I said. “Sophia’s a cape, isn’t she? I could tell.”

Piggot considered me, her eyes hooded, her face perfectly blank. “Do you have a power that allows you to tell capes from non-capes?” she asked evenly.

“Not _exactly_ ,” I hedged. “I just… get a feeling for power, especially when it’s arrayed against me. The entirety of Winslow is full of my enemies, but only Sophia pinged on that radar. Is she a Merchant? Or one of the minor groups? She can’t be ABB or Empire.”

“You know we can’t unmask a cape to you,” Armsmaster said slowly. “Villain or no. The director and I need to discuss this for a moment and decide what to do. I promise you, Annatar, we’re _on your side_ here, but some of this information is highly sensitive. Please step outside.”

I shrugged. “Sure,” I said. “Come on, Dad.”

_If they decide to cooperate, great. If not, well, I’ll still go through this trial thing, but if they can’t trust me, I can’t work with them, and if they’re not willing to stick their necks out a bit to help me out of Winslow, I’m not really willing to help them with all their PR bullshit._

I slipped my helmet on as I stood up and led my dad out of the room. Just as I opened the door, I glanced back around my shoulder.

“Just remember,” I said. “I haven’t signed anything yet. I don’t _have_ to sign anything yet.”

They didn’t answer, and I stepped out of the room, Dad following behind.

A cape shut the door behind us. I recognized him—Triumph, a recent graduate from the Wards. The shine of the gold paint on his shoulderpads didn’t quite conceal the ordinary steel underneath.

“Annatar, right?” he asked.

I nodded, holding out a hand, which he shook. “That’s right. And you’re Triumph. Nice to meet you. You were Wards captain for the Bay for a while, right?”

“Yep,” he confirmed. “You got any questions about it?”

I thought about that. “Well, I have some problems in my civilian identity,” I said. “Things that have to do with my trigger. How likely do you think the PRT is to stick their necks out for me?”

He frowned. “I mean, it depends,” he said. “They probably won’t break any laws for you or anything, but if you just need, I dunno, a support network, they’ll do what they can. I’m not exactly a policy maker, though; I don’t know.”

“Fair enough,” I said. _That was supremely unhelpful._ “What if I happened into knowledge of a villain’s civilian identity?”

He blinked at me from beneath his mask. “Oh. Hm. I don’t know, actually. There’s the unwritten rules, but it’s a villain. I guess it’d depend on _which_ villain. It’s bad form to go after people in their secret identities, but if they’re bad enough…”

“Annatar?” The door opened, and Armsmaster stood in the space. “Please, come in. We’ve come to a decision.”

I nodded and followed him inside, Dad close behind me.

Piggot was still seated at the desk. She looked somehow diminished, weakened, tired. Clearly whatever decision was made was one she didn’t fully like.

We returned to our places, like players returning to the stage following intermission. Armsmaster returned to Piggot’s elbow, I sat across from her, and Dad sat at my side. I did not remove my helmet, instead resting my chin on my hand and studying the director from across her desk.

As Triumph shut the door behind us, I broke the silence. “Well?” I asked. “What have you decided to tell me?”

Piggot glanced at Armsmaster silently. The man sighed.

“Sophia Hess,” he said slowly, “is a parahuman. You’re quite right there.”

I nodded. “I know. What else?”

Armsmaster’s mouth twisted. “I want you to know,” he said slowly, “that we had no idea any of this was going on. This was the result of a sequence of lapses in judgement and incompetent behavior on the parts of several people involved, and now that it’s been brought to our attention we’ll do our utmost to fix the situation.”

My face froze. I stared into his featureless visor. “ _Explain_ ,” I ordered, unable to keep Narya from rushing to amplify my voice. “ _Now_.”

To his credit, he didn’t flinch. “Sophia Hess is the civilian identity of the Ward Shadow Stalker,” he said.

There was a _crack_ as my fist came down on the desk. The desk broke, a hole punched into it as by an artillery shell. “No,” I said, and my voice was shrill in spite of Narya. “No, you’re _fucking_ kidding me! That bitch is one of _yours_? That bitch is supposed to be a _hero_?”

“ ‘Supposed to be’ is a very good way of putting it,” said Piggot dryly.

“As I said,” Armsmaster said evenly, “we had no idea any of this was going on—”

“ _How?_ ” I thundered, standing sharply and staring into his visor. He was a tall man, especially in his armor, but I was almost as tall as he was, and with Narya enhancing and building me up I was practically dwarfing him in presence, if not in actual size. “How the _fuck_ did you miss something like that? Do you not bother with _any_ kind of oversight? When a girl got shoved into her locker at _your Ward’s school_ , did you not even bother to look?”

Armsmaster didn’t back down in the slightest, even though I was battering him with Narya’s overbearing will. “As far as we can tell,” he said stiffly, “her handler totally failed to keep a proper watch on her, and the school’s administration was too attached to the funding they got for being a Ward’s school to hold her accountable for her behavior. In addition, Emma Barnes’ father is the lawyer who first represented Sophia when she was brought in for vigilantism and vouched for her character so that we would offer her a plea bargain to join the Wards in lieu of juvenile hall; it is possible he… misrepresented the case to some or all of the people involved.”

“ _Fucking_ Alan,” Dad muttered.

That brought me back to earth. I sat down heavily, slouching slightly, curling inward. I was spent, exhausted. I could have drawn on Narya to uplift me, but I didn’t want to use the Ring right now. I just wanted to be done here.

“What are you going to do now?” I asked, by voice soft and a little rough.

“Shadow Stalker will, of course, be removed from the Wards’ active roster,” Armsmaster said evenly. “Miss Hess will be removed from Winslow, and the PRT will find an excuse to launch an investigation into Winslow’s administration. Shadow Stalker’s handler will be drummed out of the force with a dishonorable discharge, and Miss Hess will quietly be consigned either to juvenile hall or possibly prison, depending on what our legal department thinks she can be charged with.”

I nodded dully. “Great,” I said. “Fine. You fucked up. Fix it.”

“We will, Annatar,” Piggot said firmly. “You have our assurances of that. Sophia Hess has done everything exactly wrong, has broken every law, rule, and oath in the Wards’ contract, and she _will_ be punished for it. If I have my say, she’ll be tried as an adult for terrorism and use of a bioweapon, if even half of the report on the locker incident is true. She’ll be looking at a prison sentence for at least several years.”

_She’s just a child._

It would be months and years before I was able to truly understand what it was that put that thought in my head. Sophia Hess was a bully, a monster, a demon in human skin. She’d made it her mission to make my like hell for more than a year. She’d taken one of the highest academically achieving girls in middle school and systematically beaten her down until she was practically failing high school and couldn’t find it in herself to give a damn. She’d come damn close to killing me—more than once.

More than that, she’d almost managed to get me to kill myself. More than once.

_She’s just a child._

She was a monster, but what I didn’t understand was _why_. Children aren’t born evil. Nothing is. What could have made Sophia into the monster she was? Had she even had a choice, any more than I had?

She’d triggered, same as I. It was so easy to see how, if I’d had any other power, if the Three weren’t so wonderful and supportive and _strong_ , I could have become a monster myself. I’d spent a week in a madhouse after my trigger because I’d been a gibbering _wreck_. I’d gotten better.

What if Sophia hadn’t?

_She’s just a child._

“I need to understand,” I said thickly.

“Pardon?” Armsmaster said.

I looked up at him. I had a feeling my eyes were red. They certainly itched. “I don’t understand why she’d do this,” I said quietly. “I need to. I want to talk to her. Face to face.”

“I’m afraid that’s against policy—” Armsmaster began.

I shook my head. “I won’t hurt her,” I said. “I don’t… I want to understand. I want to hear, from _her_ , why she did it. She’s… she’s just a kid. What could have happened to make a child into that?”

“She likely has some disorder,” Piggot said flatly. “Psychopathy, perhaps. Parahumans aren’t famous for being particularly stable.”

“Because we _fucking trigger_ ,” I said, glaring at her. “Because we go through days that are _so bad_ that they color the _rest of our lives_! Because we get broken down into something less than human, and get _rewarded_ for it with more than human power! _You’d_ be fucked up too, Director Piggot, if you had to deal with what we do! If you had to use powers which, every damn day, reminded you of one of the worst moments in your life!”

I looked back up at Armsmaster. “I don’t really hate her anymore,” I said, and it was honestly true. “I pity her, if anything. I don’t know what fucked her up this badly, but… well, she was an independent hero even before she joined the Wards, right?”

“That’s true,” said Armsmaster cautiously. “She had a habit of being overly brutal, however.”

I waved that away. “If all she wanted was to hurt people,” I said quietly, “it would have been so much easier to do it as a villlain. That’s what villains _do_. She chose to target criminals instead. Why?”

“I’d assume it’s so that she’d get the good PR that comes with heroism,” said Piggot caustically.

“Haw you _met_ her?” I asked roughly. “What exactly gave you the impression that she wants to be well liked? Was it the way she shoves people out of the way like they’re dust in her path, or the way she talks to everyone like they’re beneath her? No, Director, I can’t help but think she set out to be a hero, and lost her way.”

“You’re serious,” Armsmaster said. “You want to, what, give her _another_ chance?”

“Sophia doesn’t understand _chances_ ,” I said. “I want to understand what makes her tick. I want to figure out where she fucked up. And if she sincerely wants to be a hero, then I want to teach her _myself_. I want to actually watch her properly, and hold her accountable, and give her a chance, not to shape up, but to _be shaped_. To be molded into the hero that I think she wants to be.”

Piggot and Armsmaster looked at each other. “We’ll have to discuss this,” Piggot said.

“But we’re outmanned in Brockton Bay,” said Armsmaster thoughtfully. “There’s no question that another hero on the roster would be a _good thing_ , but only if you think you can actually make Shadow Stalker into a net positive.”

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “I need to talk to her.”

“Well, we’ll certainly consider it,” said Armsmaster, looking back at me. “In the meantime, if you could follow Triumph to have your powers tested and rated, we’ll consider your idea.”

“Thank you,” I said, standing up. “If you could just give me an interview room or something to talk to her, in private, for about half an hour… I can’t promise we’ll come to an agreement, but I’ll try to make the offer. And I _won’t_ hurt her.”

“We’ll consider it,” said Piggot flatly. “If you please?”

I left. Dad followed.

“Taylor,” he said lowly, as Triump led us down a corridor toward power testing, “I get that you want to be the better person here, but are you sure? It seems insane to want to give someone like her a second chance.”

“ _Third_ chance,” I corrected him. “And yes, I’m sure. She’s a _child_ , Dad. If she knows anything about right and wrong, it’s because she’s learned it; and she’s not so old, yet, that she can’t unlearn it. She’s an asset, if nothing else, and I’d rather not waste it.

“Well, I’m really proud of you,” he said with a wan smile. “I don’t think—no, I _know_ I couldn’t do that. I’m just worried about you. I know you said you wouldn’t hurt her, but don’t let _her_ hurt _you_ , either.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I chuckled. “I’ll be perfectly safe.”

-x-x-x-

“Why would they kick me out?” Shadow Stalker snarled. “I haven’t done anything!”

Narya sang in my veins, allowing me to look my tormentor in the eye unblinking, and overpower her very presence with my own. I chuckled. “Oh, you are funny,” I said, and took off my helmet.

I saw the slight tilt of her head, saw her reel, saw her try to reconcile the world of two seconds ago with the world of now, and fail. I knew exactly how she felt.

“Sit down, Sophia,” I said, “and let’s talk.”

“No.” Sophia’s voice was strangled by more than just the helmet. I could practically here her heartbeat accelerating, the adrenaline rushing to her brain.

“It’s in your interest,” I told her truthfully. “If you walk out now, there’s no hope for you.”

“No. No way. You? A Ward? A _hero_?”

_You don’t even know what that word means._

“I said the same thing when I found out, you know?” I asked rhetorically, a light laugh bubbling up to color the words. “You? The girl so vicious and vile she thought shoving a classmate into her locker with a literal biohazard was an innocent prank? But them’s the breaks, I’m afraid.”

“No.” Her voice was getting high, almost panicked. “No, fuck this. I’m not going to work with _you_.”

“Is that your final answer?” My lips twisted into a smile. Part of me hoped she would just walk out. Sitting here, directly across from the woman—no, the _girl_ —who’d driven me to madness, to depression, to pain, and eventually to _power_ , I was reminded of just how deep and strong ran my hatred for her.

_But she’s just a child._

As much as I was enjoying this conversation, enjoying getting her on the back foot for once, enjoying being the one with all the power, I had a goal in mind. I needed to _know_.

“Because, believe me, I would _love_ to have you walk out that door right now and be unceremoniously arrested and kicked out on your ass,” I told her. It was, of course, true. I just had a better prize in mind for the alternative. “That would be _wonderful_. I owe you for a _hell_ of a lot of shit, Sophia. But there’s an alternative. Sit down.”

When she did, my smile widened slightly, because I knew I’d won. “Now, Sophia,” I said, and n my satisfaction my voice came out practically a purr. “What do you _desire_?”

_End Arc 1: Glimmer_


	10. Twinkle 2.1

When I followed Sophia out of the room, both of our masks back on our faces, we were immediately faced with the stares of seven heroes, most of them accusing.

“Shadow Stalker,” Aegis said, and his voice was hard. “You know what Armsmaster’s been telling us?”

“If it’s about my trigger,” I offered, stepping up beside Sophia, “then yes, she does.”

Aegis stared at me. I didn’t know what his face looked like under his mask, but I had a strong feeling it was incredulous. “You’re—” he stopped.

I smiled. “Annatar,” I said. “Yes, I’m the girl she shoved into the locker. We’ve reached an understanding.”

Sophia snorted. From her perspective, I knew, nothing had changed except that her probation might actually be enforced now. She saw this as just another “last chance.” I was determined to disabuse her of that notion.

But that could come later.

“An _understanding_?” Aegis sounded floored. “You can _forgive_ something like that?”

“Far from it,” I replied. “But it’s better to have another hero on the streets than a villain, and I want to see if I can make Shadow Stalker into a hero.”

“And that’s a more than admirable goal,” Armsmaster cut in. “But let me be clear, Shadow Stalker: as far as I’m concerned, you’ve already run out of chances. You’re here because Annatar wants you here. The moment I see you step an _inch_ out of line, you’ll be out of the Wards and off the streets before you can put away your crossbow. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, _sir_ ,” said Sophia venomously.

Armsmaster studied her for a moment, and then looked away, glancing among the other Wards. “You all have the rest of the day off from school to get acquainted with your new teammate,” he said. Then, to me: “Annatar, Director Piggot and I would like to see you in about an hour about your transfer to Arcadia.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Armsmaster,” I said.

He sighed. “Thank _you_ ,” he said dryly. “You’ve been more understanding than I could have hoped for. Let me know if you need anything.”

With that, he left. The moment he was out the door, Sophia stepped away from my side as fast as her legs would carry her and flung herself into a couch. “Fuck,” she grunted. “ ‘Step an inch out of line.’ The fuck’s that even mean? I’m already _on_ probation!”

“I’m pretty sure you’re getting a new probation officer,” I told her coolly. “One that’ll actually do their damn job, I hope.”

“Fuck you, Hebert,” she grunted.

“You certainly tried to fuck _with_ me,” I said, tearing my helmet off of my head. “Sophia, I _really_ don’t want to deal with you, and the fun thing is, _I don’t have to_. So shape up, all right?” I glanced at the other Wards. “Also, she _definitely_ just unmasked me, right?”

Aegis was staring over at Shadow Stalker and seemed unresponsive, so Gallant stepped up. “She did, yes,” he said, reaching up and pulling the helmet off of his suit of power armor. The young man underneath it looked to be a little older than me, with tanned skin, black hair, and piercing blue eyes. His teeth were bright white as he smiled. “Dean Stansfield. I guess we’ll be going to Arcadia together.”

I smiled and stuck my helmet under my arm. “Taylor Hebert,” I said, sticking out my other hand. He shook, giving me a warm smile from his handsome face.

“I have to say,” he said, “I have to admire your restraint in allowing Shadow Stalker to stay on the team. I just hope it doesn’t come back to haunt you.”

“I’ve been stabbed in the back before,” I said dryly. “I can handle it as long as I’m expecting it.”

“Okay, no, really,” Vista said suddenly, her voice sharp. “Why the _fuck_ are we still putting up with the bitch, again? Annatar, I get that it’s _heroic_ and all that to, I don’t know, turn the other cheek, but _I_ don’t want to have to deal with her anymore, either. None of us do.”

“Don’t speak for the team, Vista,” Aegis cut in, shaking himself out of his stupor.

“ _You_ don’t suddenly start pretending you give a fuck about me,” Sophia interrupted him.

I gave her a look. “Sophia, are you _sure_ you want to be making more enemies right now?”

“Fuck you.”

I ignored that and turned to Vista. “I’m going to be watching,” I said honestly. “ _You’re_ all going to be watching. If she does anything more than be vaguely obnoxious, she’s out. I know it’s annoying, but…” I sighed. “Better the viper where you can see her.”

“We can see her if she’s in juvie,” Vista grumbled.

“She’s a _breaker_ ,” I said emphatically. “She’d be on the streets, _as a villain_ , in days. Hours, even. Best-case scenario, she gets picked up by the Merchants and gets hooked on something that keeps her dumb enough to be non-threatening, or tries to make it on her own and gets herself caught again.”

This was something of a lie. Juvenile hall could have easily been rigged with electrically charged walls and other systems to keep Shadow Stalker contained. It would have been an expenditure of resources which I hoped to render unnecessary, however.

I had a use for Sophia.

“It’s not as though she could join Empire _or_ the ABB,” Vista argued. “She’s black! Neither of them would take her, and what’s she going to do on her own?”

“Hunt me down,” I said with a wry smile. “Even if I hadn’t unmasked—even if she’d just gotten put into juvie for what she did to me, without knowing it was because I became a Ward, she’d blame me for it.”

“Maybe _don’t_ talk about me like I’m not here?”

“Maybe grow up,” I shot back. “Vista, she’s got a friend who knows where I live, even assuming she doesn’t already. She could come after my dad.”

“She could do that anyway,” said Browbeat cautiously.

“Not if she’s confined to the Rig and house arrest.”

“You _what_?” Sophia roared.

“You’d prefer juvie?”

That shut her up.

“She’s here because I want to give her a chance,” I said quietly. “That doesn’t mean giving her free reign. _I’m_ the one that paid for it, last time she was cut loose. I’m not making the same mistake again. She’s not getting any solo patrols, and the only three places she’ll be _besides_ patrol are here, her house, and Winslow. And she’s going to be watched at Winslow.”

Vista sighed. “We still have to deal with her.”

“Yes,” Aegis said firmly. “We do. So try not to make it harder than it has to be, Missy.”

Vista sighed. “Fine, fine.” She reached up and pulled off her visor and helmet. “Hi,” the young blonde girl said, a wry smile on her face. “Missy Biron. Sorry if I’m a little bitter that you had the chance to get rid of Shadow Stalker and didn’t take it.”

“I understand,” I said honestly. “I really, really understand.”

She grunted. “I’m pretty sure you do,” she said. “Oh, God, Armsmaster told us she caused your trigger. No details, but that's...”

I shook my head. “It was,” I said flatly, “but… part of my power helps me deal with it. Don’t worry about me. _Everyone’s_ trigger events suck.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” muttered Clockblocker, pulling off his helmet. Underneath, he was a pale, freckled guy with a shock of unkempt red hair atop his head. “Dennis O’Donnel,” he introduced, sticking out a hand for me to shake.

“Don’t do it,” Sophia drawled from the corner. “He’ll freeze you and then we’ll all have to wait half an hour for you to wake up.”

Dennis stuck his tongue out at her. “Spoilsport.”

I chuckled. “Maybe we wait on the pranks until introductions are done?” I suggested.

“ _Fiiiiiine_ ,” he whined, winking at me. “But I’ll get you, my pretty. And your little dog, too.”

I laughed at that. “I’ll pass the warning on to Toto.”

“Okay, wait,” Kid Win said, coming forward and pulling off his visor. Under it was a pale kid, maybe half a year younger than me, with wavy, unkempt brown hair. “You’re a tinker, right?” he asked. “Armsmaster said you were a tinker.”

I nodded. “I specialize in powered items.”

“Powered? Like power armor?”

“No,” I chuckled. “Powered, like Dauntless.”

“Oh.” He blinked at me. “Damn, that sounds broken.”

I giggled. “It is, a bit,” I admitted.

“Introductions,” Aegis muttered, nudging the tinker.

“Oh, right,” said Kid Win, shaking himself. “I’m Chris—Chris Thompson. Looking forward to working with you.”

“Likewise,” I said, shaking his hand.

“Browbeat?” Aegis prompted.

Browbeat stepped forward. His posture was slightly hunched, which looked a little silly with his nearly six feet of bodybuilder’s muscle. “Hi,” he said, slowly pulling off his full-face cowl. “I’m, uh, Sam Keene,” he introduced. His voice was surprisingly soft and gentle for such a big guy. Timid, even.

“Taylor Hebert,” I said, putting my small hand into his larger one. “A pleasure.”

“And I,” Aegis said, pulling off his mask to reveal a face the color of adulterated coffee, dominated by large brown eyes, “am Carlos Casiano. I’m leader of the Brockton Bay Wards.”

I grinned at him. “Should I call you ‘sir’ then?” I asked.

He shook his head with a slight laugh, matching my smile. “Please, no,” he said. “I prefer to think of it as ‘first among equals,’ if it’s all the same to you.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said. “I don’t do well with authority.”

“Gee,” Missy said sarcastically. “I wonder why. It wouldn’t have anything to do with how Winslow hung you out to dry, now would it?”

“Missy, I’m sure it wasn’t like that,” Carlos said.

“On the contrary,” I said, treating Missy to a wry smile. “It was _exactly_ like that. You know, local schools are compensated for having Wards attend?”

Missy twitched. “No,” she said flatly. “No, they didn’t let you get tortured just for a little extra cash. No, that’s b— that’s garbage.”

“It is,” I agreed, “but it’s also exactly what happened, I’m afraid.”

“Fuck that,” Vista said succinctly.

“Language, Missy,” Carlos said wearily. “We can’t be heard like that on patrol.”

Missy sighed. “And this isn’t worth a couple f—?” she cut herself off. I got the impression it was an old argument. “Never mind, I—sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Carlos said. Then he turned to Sophia. “Shadow Stalker,” he said, and his voice was hard. “You want to give us the details of your deal with Annatar?”

“I don’t really know them,” Sophia replied coolly. “I just figured it’s probably better than juvie. And, I mean, I can always pick juvie later if I’m wrong. Some bullshit about trying to be a real hero.”

I nodded. “You and I,” I told her, “are going to be working together a lot, I think. Partly so I can keep you in check, and partly so that maybe you can actually learn something.”

Sophia grunted. “Just don’t hold me back.”

I stared at her and slowly began to reach for Narya’s power. Slowly, all of the other Wards backed away from me slightly. A conversation that had started up between Kid Win and Clockblocker, after they’d both introduced themselves, cut off mid-word. All of them were staring at me, Narya’s power demanded their attention. It was as though I was silhouetted against a light that was less behind and more _within_ me, and the shadow I cast demanded respect.

Sophia seemed almost to be shrinking, her posture hunching, slightly, as though she was trying to curl up and hide from my gaze.

My voice was quiet, but it cut through the silence like an elf-blade. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Hess.”

I gradually released my hold on Narya’s power. The room seemed to come back into focus around me, the shade receding from the walls, floor, and other Wards.

“No,” I said dryly, my eyes seeking the beady glint I saw behind her mask. “I wouldn’t worry about that at all.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’d better go see the director about getting the hell out of Winslow,” I said. “I’ll be back in a bit, probably.”

The Wards were totally silent, watching me as I walked out. I hoped Presence hadn’t too badly ruined my first impression.

My fears were allayed as, in the moment the elevator door closed behind me, I heard a whispered, “That was _awesome_ ,” from Vista. I smiled to myself even as the small pod started to rise.


	11. Twinkle 2.2

“Annatar, come in.” Director Piggot’s voice was firm and businesslike, devoid of any particular emotion.

I entered her office and sat down. “Armsmaster said you wanted to talk about Arcadia?” I asked.

Piggot nodded, folding her hands on the table. “I sent out some emails while you were in preliminary power testing,” she said shortly. “The good news is we can definitely get you short-listed into Arcadia. There’s some choices as to how we go about that.”

“Wait,” I said quickly, holding up a hand. “Is this conditional on my joining the Wards proper, or is this still part of the trial membership?”

“We’ll facilitate your transfer to Arcadia regardless,” Piggot said evenly. “Along with the identity-protection measures we offer. They won’t protect you if you decide not to join the Wards, however.”

“That makes sense,” I said, “Although I’m surprised you’re going this far out for a trial member.”

Piggot’s face twisted slightly. “Like I said,” she replied, “it’s a new system. I have a strong feeling it’s going to turn out to be too expensive in its current iteration. You’re lucky to be joining us when you are.”

“Fair enough.”

“Now, regarding your transfer to Arcadia,” Piggot continued, all business again, “We have a couple of options.”

“I’m listening,” I told her, folding my hands in my lap.

“As part of the deal in place between the Wards program and the local schools, we have to tell the administration your identity so that they can let you off early if necessary for Wards activities.” Piggot folded her hands on the desk and met my eyes behind the mithril helmet. “Part of the deal with Arcadia in particular means that they usually accept students of a similar body type at the same time as a Ward, and let those students off at similar odd times to keep the Ward’s identity safe. You see the problem?”

I nodded. “I’m transferring in the middle of the semester, and they don’t have any students of that body type transferring in at the same time who could cover for me. I guess they pull those students out too, whenever they pull out the Wards?”

Piggot nodded. “It’s a misdirection we use to keep Wards’ identities secure,” she said. “The obvious solution is to just make a list of already-admitted students who have your basic body type and use them as your covers, but…”

“…But they didn’t transfer in at the middle of the semester,” I finished. “It’d be obvious and useless.”

“Precisely,” said Piggot. “Now, if you don’t _care_ about your privacy, we can still do that, and you’ll be in Arcadia within a week. However, an alternative is to scan Arcadia’s waitlist and admit a few students who would fit as long as they agree to be your covers. That’ll take longer, more like two weeks at least, and it might take up to a month. Which would be time you’re still attending Winslow.”

I grimaced. “So either my secret identity gets put at risk, or I have to deal with Sophia and the others for another month?”

“Essentially, yes,” said Piggot. “Of course, with Shadow Stalker’s probation, if she so much as looks at you funny you’re well within your rights to ask us to toss her out. So that should make things easier.”

“And I’m honestly not scared of the other two anymore,” I said dryly. “I’m not even scared of _her_. Fine, we’ll take the extra time, and get this done right.”

“You’re sure?”

I nodded. “I’d rather not put Dad at risk,” I said. “Having me as a daughter’s trouble enough without supervillains coming after him.”

“Fair enough. I’ll get that organized. What did the preliminary power testing come up with?”

“They could only test my current module,” I told her, “and it _was_ preliminary, but for now they’ve got me as a tinker 7, with possible changes depending on what else I can do in future and with my other modules. The current module’s trump 6, shaker 5, striker 2, and master 0. My armor also gives me a purely-defensive brute 3.”

“When can we test your other modules?”

“Probably one tomorrow and one on Thursday.”

“Do they change by themselves daily?” Piggot asked.

“No,” I said, then hesitated. “I… manually activate them, and I usually do it once daily.”

“Usually? Couldn’t you do it more often for testing?”

“I left the others at home,” I confessed. “I’d need to head home to get them, and I don’t like carrying them around.” Narya glimmered warmly on my finger. “They’re tinkertech—sort of—but I can only use one at a time. Whichever one I’m using has a localized stranger power which makes it undetectable to people, but the others look like tangible objects—which could be stolen. And that would be very bad.”

“Yes,” Piggot agreed dryly, “I agree. It would be very bad. I think I’d rather you keep these objects on the Rig than in your house.”

“More people pass through here every day than go through my house in the average _year_ ,” I protested. “And I have ways of keeping them safe.”

“We’ll do it your way,” Piggot acquiesced. “For now. We’ll talk about it more later; Armsmaster would be happy to secure them in his lab, I'm sure, and his security is tinkertech. Can you bring both of the other modules tomorrow?”

“I’d much rather not,” I confessed. “I still don’t trust Shadow Stalker. If she were to steal the R—module I wasn’t wearing, it could be catastrophic.”

Piggot sighed. “I guess one day won’t make that much difference,” she grumbled. “Well, I think that’s everything for now. We’ll have to figure out how we’re going to announce your presence. Armsmaster will want to talk to you about taking down Lung—he’s been stewing over who’ll get the credit. I’ll also schedule you an appointment with the PRT's image department. One of them will want to talk to you about your cape identity and image.”

“A PRT employee?” I asked. “Does that mean I have to unmask to him?”

“No,” Piggot said. “Wards' identities aren't available to everyone in the PRT by any stretch, and the image department isn't on the need-to-know list.”

“Good to know. Anything else?”

Piggot shook her head. “Not for now,” she said. “Go see Armsmaster. By the end of the day we should have a PHO account for you under your cape name. _Don’t_ post with it until we have a plan of action for your reveal.”

I nodded. “I can do that. Thank you, Director.”

“Thank _you_ , Annatar. Probably half of my Wards aren’t this cooperative.”

-x-x-x-

Armsmaster’s workshop door was shut when I arrived. I palmed the button to its side. No noise emerged, but I wasn’t sure whether that was because it was a silent doorbell or because the room was soundproofed.

When, about thirty seconds later, the door opened, the sudden wall of sound that hit me answered that question. _Definitely soundproofed._

“Annatar,” Armsmaster said, standing aside. “Come in. I was just tinkering.”

I grinned. “I can understand that,” I said, stepping inside. The sound was coming from several small machines, each of which held a piece of metal in various stages of the forging process, being carved with lasers or heated in nanoforges. Piece by piece, the room was building tinkertech around me.

It was efficient, effective, and horribly impersonal. “You never even touch your stuff until it’s finished,” I realized, and only after I’d spoken did I realize I’d said it aloud.

Armsmasater shrugged. “The nanoforges are faster at the actual building than I could be,” he said. “I spend my time on design, mostly.”

I shuddered slightly, an involuntary reaction.

“I can get a couple of nanoforges requisitioned for you,” Armsmaster offered. “Dragon builds them now, at her base in Vancouver.”

“No thank you,” I said quickly. “I prefer to handle the metal myself, forge it properly. How can you even mesh your intent into the object if your hammer never _touches_ it?”

Armsmaster stared at me for a moment, and then said dryly, “I think this is a powers thing.”

I sighed. “Yeah, probably. I don’t know. It feels wrong.”

“I’m afraid it’s the only way I know how to do it,” Armsmaster said evenly. “And it’s worked so far.”

I nodded. “Fair enough,” I said before wrenching my gaze away from the nanoforges and looked up at his visor. “You wanted to talk about Lung?”

He nodded. “PHO has, of course, already leaked the fact of Lung’s defeat,” he said. “But the Protectorate hasn’t yet released a statement regarding what happened. We need to do so soon. I asked them to hold off for at least a couple days in case you decided to come forward.”

I smiled at him. “Well, thank you for that,” I said. “Shouldn’t we just tell them the truth? I held him off for long enough that you could arrive and beat him?”

Armsmaster nodded. “That’s probably wisest,” he agreed. “Although, of course, it is complicated by the fact that your reveal hasn’t actually happened yet. I’ll consult with Director Piggot and Glenn Chambers, if he’s available, or one of his people if he's not. Either we’ll hold off on discussing Lung until you’re public, or we’ll say Lung was taken down with the help of an ‘unidentified hero’ and then reveal you _as_ that hero later. It depends on how fast our thinkers, and Mr. Chambers, want the timeline to go.”

“That makes sense,” I said. Then I paused. “Why didn’t you just do that anyway?”

“Well, I wanted to make sure you _wanted_ the credit,” Armsmaster said. “It could make you a target, after all. I could leave you out of the story entirely, if you prefer. I don’t know that I’d advise that, but it’s certainly an option.”

“The ABB will already know I helped,” I said, “and besides them, who else is going to want to avenge _Lung_? I think it should be fine.”

“It’s not about avenging Lung,” Armsmaster replied. “It’s about power. If people know you’re a cape who can even _think_ about standing up to him, you become a valuable commodity. There are certainly people who aren’t above kidnapping and extortion to get someone like that to do what they want.”

I grimaced. “That’s fair,” I allowed. “Do _you_ think I should deny involvement?”

“No,” said Armsmaster firmly. “I think, as a Ward, building a good name for yourself is more important than that little bit of safety. It lends the Wards, and heroes in general, that little bit more credibility. And we should be able to protect you from the backlash. I think taking credit would be the best choice, in this scenario. But it’s your choice.”

“Then I’ll take the credit,” I said. Narya grew pleasantly warm on my finger. “It’ll be a good way to spread hope. With both you and I, two heroes who stood up to Lung, on the heroes’ side… that’ll look good.”

“I agree,” Armsmaster said. “Likely better than if I took the credit alone; people already know I’m a powerful cape, and I’m already reinforcing it with this, but starting your career this way will be more useful to you than to me. I’ll talk to the Director about it.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’d better get back to the Wards, make sure they’re not giving Sophia too hard a time.”

“A moment, Annatar,” Armsmaster said, putting a hand on my shoulder as I turned to leave. The power armor clanked on the mithril pauldron. “I wanted to talk to you a bit more about that.”

“About Lung?”

“About Shadow Stalker. Why _did_ you want her to stay in the Wards?”

I tried to meet his gaze, but I couldn’t see his eyes under the visor. “Several reasons,” I said. “I told you this in Piggot’s office, though. Better to have the viper where you can see her, and if I can actually make a hero out of her, that’s better than another villain on the streets.”

“I’m not expressing myself well,” Armsmaster said quietly. “Look, Annatar, I’m a parahuman too. I triggered, same as you. I’m asking… _how_? How can you stand being in the same room as her, regardless of any notion of the greater good?”

I smiled slightly. “I’m stronger than her,” I said evenly. “I know that. Now, she does too. She’s annoying, yeah, but every second I spend in her presence annoys her _way_ more than it does me. That talk she and I had? I got to know her better in those ten minutes than I did in the last eighteen months. Trust me, Armsmaster: having to deal with me, knowing I have this kind of power over her, and knowing that she can’t even fight me for it because she’ll _lose_? That’s worse than anything juvie could do to her. It doesn’t mesh with her philosophy, it causes dissonance.”

“That sounds like it could make her unstable,” Armsmaster countered. “Which makes her dangerous.”

“I _want_ her unstable,” I replied. “If she’s unstable, I can topple her. She sees the world as made up of predators and prey, and right now, her position is _prey_ after seeing herself as a predator for years. She has no choice but to either change her world-view or _break_. I think I can help her do the former.”

“And make her into a hero that way.” Armsmaster didn’t sound happy.

“Yes,” I said. “Manipulative, I guess, but she _wants_ to be a hero. She really, really does. She just doesn’t know what that even _means_.”

“You know this from your conversation with her?”

I nodded. “Annatar,” I said, enunciating clearly. “ ‘Lord of Gifts’ in Quenya. It’s… instinctive for me, to figure out what people want, and what to give them…” _…to make them mine._ “I think it might be a minor thinker power. It only surfaced after I got tested, so I’ll bring it up when I test my next module tomorrow.”

“Hm.” The grunt sounded almost noncommittal. Wary, even. “You got Shadow Stalker to open up to you? You, a person she despises?”

I sighed. “I guess it _might_ be a minor master power,” I acknowledged. “I don’t _think_ so, though. I definitely didn’t Dominate her like I did that ganger on Sunday night. It probably wouldn’t have worked even if I’d tried—she’s too willful. I don’t even have that module active today. No, I just… maneuvered the conversation in such a way that answering my questions caused less dissonance than clamming up.”

“By way of her philosophy?”

I nodded. “She likes confrontation,” I said. “So I made keeping quiet non-confrontational, and talking a battle, so that she’d leap into it and give me what I wanted.”

“This sounds a great deal like a thinker power,” Armsmaster said slowly. “Make sure you get it tested tomorrow.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Now, I should get back to my work. You go rejoin the Wards. I’m sure they have more to tell you about how we do things.”

“Probably,” I agreed, smiling. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Armsmaster.”

He exhaled and a faint smile curled the edges of his bearded mouth. “Same to you, Annatar.”


	12. Interlude 2a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta-read by SpaceBattles user dwood15. I much appreciate the assistance.

“Colin?” Dragon’s voice, emanating from his earpiece, broke his contemplation. Assembled on the table before him was Annatar’s silvery armor—mithril, she claimed, a substance she could transmute from other metals.

“Yes, Dragon?”

“Director Piggot wants to talk to us. Any luck with the armor?”

“Well, I can’t damage it with conventional weapons or lasers,” Colin said, turning away and picking up his halberd where it leaned against the wall before striding out of his lab. “Haven’t tried the monomolecular blade.”

“Could you repair it if you damaged it?”

“Probably not,” he admitted. “Which is why I’ve been taking it slowly. Besides, we already tested it when Annatar was here.”

“Then why—wait.” Dragon stopped for a moment. “You’re saying you can’t damage it. As in, you can’t get a sample to test?”

“Right,” Colin said. “I can't exactly put the whole suit under a microscope. I’ve deduced that it’s immune to most ionizing radiation. Alpha, beta, and gamma rays all just bounce off with almost 0% loss. It’s highly photoreflective as well; I wouldn’t recommend fielding lasers against it.”

“Good to know,” said Dragon. “Anything on the spear?”

“Annatar told the tester the name means ‘icicle.’ That’s not figurative. The blade is cold enough to the touch that I’m surprised it isn’t steaming. It’s also sharper than I’d expect of ordinary metal forged with her limited equipment. It’s not on par with my halberd, but it’s sharp enough to cut through steel with some power behind it, and flash-freeze organic material it goes through.”

“Flash-freeze? It’s that cold?”

“It’s more complex than that. To the touch, the blade is only around 260 Kelvin. When penetrating a substance, though, it seems to get much colder. I charted the warming rate of a clay sample I cut with the blade, and extrapolated the initial temperature. At the moment of severance, the sample’s temperature appears to have dropped to 70 Kelvin.”

“That’s below the boiling point of nitrogen.”

“I’m aware.”

“And you still can’t find any sign of electrical activity in the device?”

“None.”

A pregnant silence followed Colin as he walked down the corridor towards Piggot’s office.

“That’s bizarre,” Dragon said eventually.

“I’m starting to think her powers aren’t mechanically tinker-like at all,” Colin replied. “We’ll have to see if you can analyze her gear, but it seems more similar to Dauntless’ trump ability.”

“You’ll have to ask her if I can have a piece of her equipment to analyze,” she said. “Or wait until she finishes the trial period so you can requisition it.”

Colin nodded. “We’ll have to see what the director thinks. While we’re on the topic, what happened in her conversation with Shadow Stalker?”

Dragon hummed uncertainly. “That’s… a hard question,” she said slowly. “Annatar wasn’t… her speech patterns shifted drastically when she was alone with Shadow Stalker.”

“Shifted how?”

“She became more formal. Almost cryptic. Used archaic or formal diction a lot more. Her body language shifted a bit, too—she seemed to be trying to avoid synchronicity, even unconsciously.”

“Synchronicity?”

“The unconscious ‘mirroring’ people do in conversations. When one participant in a two-person conversation leans forward, the other will often follow. It’s an unconscious or subconscious mechanism to build rapport, according to some psychologists. Annatar was leading that conversation from the moment Shadow Stalker walked in, and didn’t follow her cues once. I don’t think that was conscious.”

“An unconscious thinker power?”

“Possibly. It certainly put Shadow Stalker on edge, which only helped Annatar get her talking.”

“And what did they talk about?”

Dragon sighed. “I expect Piggot will want a replay of the conversation in full,” she said. “I’ll play it back for both of you.”

“Great, thanks.”

Colin reached Piggot’s office and knocked.

“Enter.” The woman’s voice was harsh, tired. He obeyed.

She was seated at her desk, typing something on her computer, her brow furrowed. She nodded at him as he entered. “Armsmaster,” she greeted. “Dragon, you’re here?”

“Yes,” came the Canadian woman’s voice from the room’s speakers. “Where did you want to begin, Director?”

“Let’s start with Annatar’s master power,” said Piggot evenly. “Dragon, you were watching our conversations with her. How much would you say it affected us?”

“Not much,” Dragon said. “It probably made you somewhat more inclined to take her seriously, but not to the point where you would agree to anything you normally wouldn’t. From what I got out of micro-expression analysis, you were both behaving as you might when presented with an independent hero of Protectorate age, rather than Wards age.”

“That’s not too bad,” said Piggot slowly. “Annoying, especially if she can’t be trusted to turn it off. It’s certainly no worse than dealing with Glory Girl on a regular basis. Is that the extent of that ability?”

“Not at all,” said Dragon. “When she damaged your desk, she seems to have… overcharged her aura. She did so again through her entire private conversation with Shadow Stalker, and again, once, when introducing herself to the Wards. When she does so, the aura usually manifests as something like Glory Girl’s fear aura. If Armsmaster were anyone else, he might have backed down when she got into his face.”

“It was certainly startling,” Colin muttered. “I wasn’t afraid of her, but I found it hard to remember that I was the Protectorate hero and she was the trial Ward.”

“Right,” Dragon said. “The power seems, at its basic level, to make it more difficult to keep perspective on Annatar’s relative position in a conversation. It makes her seem more significant than she is. The closest analogue, really, is Nice Guy’s power, but it’s far less dangerous, even when she pulls out the stops. At best all she could do was compel Shadow Stalker to seriously consider her questions, rather than answering off the cuff. That’s what my analysis suggests, anyway.”

“Any idea whether the Master 2 rating we gave her is reasonable?” Piggot asked.

“If anything, I might lower it to Master 1 or Master 0,” Dragon replied. “She can’t make minions with the power any more than any relatively charismatic person.”

“Good,” said Piggot dryly. “Her apparent master/striker power in that other module is worrying enough; we don’t need a shaker/master who can’t keep it in her pants. Now, her conversation with Shadow Stalker. Can we get the recording?”

“I’ll bring it up on your screen now.”

They watched as Shadow Stalker entered the room and was summarily deconstructed. Colin and Piggot both watched the show in attentive silence.

Once the two young parahumans had left the room, the footage stopped.

“I have several questions,” Piggot said dryly. “Easy ones first. ‘Quenya?’”

“She told me the same thing,” Colin confirmed.

“I heard,” Dragon said. “Quenya, as a language, does not exist. Either she made it up, or her powers gave her complete knowledge of a language that no known culture speaks. It wouldn’t be the strangest things powers have done.”

“No, but it’s up there,” said Piggot. “Any sign it’s particularly important?”

“Not especially.”

“Then we won’t worry about it for now,” Piggot decided. “Ask her about it if and when she confirms her membership. Now, this definitional discussion of heroes and villains. It’s something I’d expect from a philosophy student, not a Ward talking to another Ward. What’s going on there?”

“She seems to be trying to cause dissonance in Shadow Stalker’s world-view,” Dragon answered. “Shadow Stalker considers herself a hero; Annatar is forcing her to consider a model whereby Shadow Stalker’s behavior makes her a villain. It certainly made Shadow Stalker uncomfortable.”

“It strikes me as dangerous,” Piggot said slowly. “Annatar seems to have a very established idea of ‘heroism.’ If she ever decides we’re not conforming…”

“If we ever stop conforming to the idea of ‘protecting people,’ Armsmaster said evenly, “Annatar isn’t the only hero you should worry about leaving, Director.”

“I’ll take that.” Piggot chuckled mirthlessly. “I suppose none of us would be here if we weren’t idealists on some level, believing that the human race is redeemable. All right. Dragon, how would you rate Annatar as a security risk?”

“Low,” Dragon said immediately. “Lower than Shadow Stalker, even before we knew most of what she was up to. Higher than, say, Vista, but no higher than most of the Wards. She’s a remarkably well-adjusted young woman with a powerful, and slightly frightening, set of abilities. That doesn’t inherently make her a security risk. As a full member of the wards, she’ll be extremely useful.”

“Good. She seems eager.” Piggot sighed. “Now the hard part. Winslow. I can’t pull her out until her transfer to Arcadia is complete, because as a governmental employee I can’t facilitate truancy. But something needs to be done.”

“I have a feeling she can keep Shadow Stalker in check,” said Colin dryly.

“Learned helplessness can be a real problem in such situations,” Dragon cautioned. “But in this case, I agree.”

“Yes,” Piggot said. “There are issues on our end, however. Blackwell, the Winslow administration, and Officer Darbes.” Darbes was the name of Sophia’s handler, Armsmaster recalled. A woman who had always seemed professional, if ambitious.

“Darbes is entirely at your discretion, Director,” Dragon said.

Colin interjected. “Whatever you decide, it’s probably the easiest thing to keep from Annatar if you decide not to fire her, as Annatar is probably expecting.”

Piggot shook her head. “Her orders were to watch Shadow Stalker and keep her in line,” she said. “I’m forwarding all relevant details to the police department; they can handle her as they see fit. I’ll ask them to keep the details confidential, but other than that, she’s their officer. Their problem. If Annatar asks, that’s all she needs to know.”

“What about Winslow?” Dragon asked. “They’re decidedly not under our umbrella. We can’t really do much about them.”

“No,” Piggot said coldly, “but I have a problem with people who take positions without taking the responsibility that comes with them. I’ll make that much clear to Blackwell directly, then report the problem she allowed to fester to the school district with a letter of concern.”

“Good,” said Dragon. “With any luck, that’ll be enough for Shadow Stalker, too. I’d recommend you try to get a therapist transferred into ENE to see her, more regularly than standard evaluations.”

“Do you think Annatar might need therapy as well?” Piggot asked.

Dragon sighed. “I think just about every parahuman needs therapy,” she said gently.

“In that case, the standard screening will have to do for her. Back on topic,” said Piggot firmly, “Annatar’s modules. She’s worried about security. If they’re half as powerful as she makes them sound, they cannot be allowed to get into the wrong hands. She’s currently got them stored at her home, but it’s worryingly easy to find a cape’s identity if one really tries, and I don’t want any villains getting bright ideas. Can we secure them in your laboratory?”

Colin nodded. “I can,” he said. “They’ll be more than safe with my spare halberds.”

“Good, thank you,” Piggot said. “I’ll probably wait to push her on it until she’s signed on. Also, be sure to impress upon her the importance of reporting when she’s using a module, and which one. We need to at least make sure we know when master powers are flying around.”

“Understood.”

“Good. While we’re on the topic, Dragon, any insight into whether she’s likely to join?”

“She was planning to join before she knew about the trial program,” Dragon replied. “I’d be very surprised if she backed out now, so long as we don’t do anything to put her off.”

“Annatar’s a powerful cape.” Piggot’s tone was cool. “As with all heroes and Wards, we’ll do our best to make sure she understands the PRT and Protectorate are there to help. Moving on, I assume you’ve been studying her gear?” she finished, turning to Colin.

Colin nodded. “Her ‘mithril’ is hard to get a read on because it’s impervious to most of what I can do to it, including for purposes of analysis. I’m starting to make progress. Should have something by the end of the night.”

“Try to get some sleep, Armsmaster,” Dragon pleaded. “You’re no use to the Protectorate dead on your feet.”

Colin sighed. “I’ll try,” he promised.

“Make sure her gear is back in her locker by morning,” Piggot ordered. “Just in case she decides to come by early. We may have permission to test her equipment, but I’d rather not remind her that we can just pull it out of her locker if we don’t have to.”

“Understood.”

“Good. I expect a preliminary report on my desk by tomorrow afternoon. Dismissed.”


	13. Twinkle 2.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to dwood15 for betareading this chapter.

I _really_ needed to figure out a better way to get my armor from place to place. As it was, I left my set, along with Aeglos, at PRT Headquarters for the night. I had a small, secure locker there now, apparently. It was deep, rather than tall. I couldn’t have fit in this one.

Dad picked me up from the ferry in the evening, around dinnertime. I expected him to have questions.

Foremost among them was “What’s happening with you and Sophia?”

“I’m giving her another chance,” I told him wearily. “I… she wants to be a hero, she’s just _really_ bad at it.”

“How can you know that?” he asked, his voice hard. “She sure hasn’t been very _heroic_ to you.”

“I just _do_ ,” I said. “I just… she has two desires, Dad. Sophia likes to be on top, to assert herself in a display of power. She wants to _not feel weak_. But at the same time, she likes to think of herself as a hero. What I have to do is show her that her desires are in conflict, and help her make the right choice.”

“Why should you?” There was a lost note to his voice, under the growl. “You don’t owe her anything!”

“Except my powers.”

He didn’t respond.

“It’s not like that,” I said gently. “No, I’m not doing this out of some misplaced sense of duty. I just… being a hero isn’t about beating up the bad guys, it’s about _making the world better_. And Shadow Stalker is part of that. If I can make her into a hero, that’s one more hero—a real hero—in the world. That’s worth fighting for. I can _use_ heroes.”

Dad sighed, turning onto another street. “I don’t know if I could be that self-sacrificing, ” he said quietly. “I’m not even sure I approve of _you_ being that self-sacrificing. You’re important too, you know.”

“I know, Dad.” I smiled. “On the plus side, soon I’ll only have to deal with her in the Wards.”

“Oh?” Dad was surprised. “They’ve already got you out of Winslow?”

“I’m being fast-tracked for Arcadia,” I replied. “It’ll take a couple of weeks, but I should be able to keep Sophia in check during the interim.

“Well, good,” Dad said firmly. “I don’t want you going back there ever again.”

I simply smiled.

-x-x-x-

The next day I had Gladly’s class in school with Madison. For the first time in quite a while, there was nothing unfortunate on my chair. No glue, no juice, nothing. Madison ignored me through the entire period, despite sitting fairly close.

I still wound up doing all the work for my group, though.

Sophia responded to the changed situation rather differently. Sophia ignored me through most of math. The lack of sneers in my direction was disconcerting. It wasn’t that she didn’t look my way; she did, if not as often as usual. But her brow was furrowed, and her teeth weren’t bared. She was confused, not hateful.

Oddly enough, her expression wasn’t the hateful rictus I might have expected, had I not known her as well as I now did. I’d won her respect, and now that she’d had a few hours and a night’s rest to consider it, she’d assimilated me into her world-view. I was a survivor, now, like her and Emma.

All the better. It would be far easier to dismantle her world-view from there than from outside.

I didn’t see Emma until lunch. She had her own way of coping. It wasn’t a healthy one.

“Oh, Taylor!” Her voice, sickly sweet, called across the lunchroom. “You finally came back! I thought you’d be longer.”

I glanced up from my ham sandwich at her, my face controlled. I was seated at one table, quite alone; she had stood up from another table, across the cafeteria. Beside her, Sophia was looking down, but I could see the tension in her jaw.

When Emma didn’t continue, I returned to my food without a word.

“Did it all get to be too much for you?” Emma asked with macabre gentleness. “Did you have to take a break, to cry yourself to sleep for a few nights? At least it wasn’t a week straight, this time.”

I was barely aware of what I was doing when I stood up and whirled to face her. I don’t know what the students around me saw, on my finger, but from my perspective the blue star of Vilya was practically incandescent. My fists and teeth clenched.

I met her eyes. She had started walking towards me as she spoke, but took a step back as I rose, her eyes widening ever so slightly.

_It would be so easy._ All I had to do was reach over, set my hand on her smooth skin, run my fingers through her soft hair, and _let go_. Let Vilya do its work. It would be _so easy_. I’d even be able to play it off as a moment of reconciliation. The PRT would know, if it was reported to them, but no one in Winslow was particularly inclined to report me except Sophia. And I could handle Sophia.

It would only take a moment, and Emma would be mine again, more than ever. Mine in sum; totally and utterly, body and mind. I’d never have to hear her snide insults or feel her verbal daggers in my back again.

It would be so easy. Just a moment of weakness, and I could have a lifetime of peace.

Vilya’s light dimmed. _Not yet, not here, and not like this._ I wasn’t sure I was _better_ than that, but I was certainly _smarter_.

“Tread carefully, little Icarus,” I said. My voice carried in the sudden silence. “You’re flying a little too close to the sun.”

Emma bared her teeth. “You think I—”

_She’s obsessed with strength._ Emma had been confronted by her own weakness in the alley, two years ago, and had since tried to feel strong by treading on the backs of others. If she were worth the investment, that would be the avenue I’d take to shape her into something useful.

Right now, I was feeling vindictive. I took the route instead to destroy her.

“I knew a little girl,” I said coldly, cutting her off, “who loved her friends, and valued the truth, and knew right from wrong. That girl suffered, as we all do. You want to know the difference between her and me?”

I gazed into her eyes, watched the pupils dilate, watched her breasts—my, how jealous I’d once been of those—rise and fall in an accelerating tempo. I waited until she tried to say something, _anything_ , to reclaim control of the conversation, and then cut her off.

“I survived my trial. She _broke_.”

She tried to say something. I don’t know what it was; I didn’t listen. I just left.

-x-x-x-

“So, how is it, working with the PRT?” Dad asked over dinner on Wednesday night.

“Nice,” I said honestly. “They finished testing with Nenya and Vilya today, so that’s all of the Three.”

“What do they do, exactly? I remember you using Hope on me, on Monday. That’s Narya, right?”

“Right,” I replied happily. “Narya, the Ring of Fire. Provides hope and resistance to domination to its Bearer and to allies around them. Besides that, it gives me enhanced strength, and the ability to demand respect from those around me.”

“Sounds powerful.”

“It _is_. I could probably beat a lot of the worst villains in the world right now because Narya makes me immune to masters, as far as I can tell. I’m hoping the PRT gets off their ass about putting me against those villains soon.”

Dad looked nervous. “Just… be careful, okay?”

“I will,” I promised.

“And then there’s… Nenya?”

I nodded. “Nenya, the Ring of Water,” I said. “It protects its bearer and their allies from harm, whether that’s by projecting barriers, enhancing their senses, or keeping them hidden.”

“It can do all that?” Dad sounded impressed, and well he should.

“Yeah. They’re all like that; crazy grab-bags of really strong powers.”

“And what’s the last one?”

“Vilya, the Ring of Air. The strongest of the Three. Vilya gives me control: over the elements, over people, over the future.”

Dad stared at me. “That sounds… frightening.”

“It can be,” I replied seriously. “Vilya’s the Ring I used to fight Lung, and that was my first time out with it. I still haven’t figured out everything it can do.”

“What do you mean, ‘haven’t figured out?’”

“The Rings don’t come with an instruction manual. I’m learning, but there’s a lot about each one I don’t know.” The PRT had been concerned about the way my powers sometimes just revealed more about themselves when I needed them. It made my powers hard to predict or plan around—a good thing, if I was working alone, but I wasn’t anymore. They’d made me promise to report new powers for testing as soon as they appeared.

I’d agreed. It wasn’t a hard oath to break, if I needed to.

“Think you could maybe _control_ the gangs a bit?” Dad asked with a wry chuckle. “Might be nice to have some peace and quiet in the docks, for once.”

“I could probably do that,” I agreed teasingly. “It’ll cost you, though.”

“Oh?” his voice was light. “What price do you demand, Lord of Gifts?”

“Everlasting obedience,” I said stiffly. “An eternity of servitude to my dark throne. Also, peeled grapes. Every day.”

“Anything else, oh great and powerful one?”

“Hmm,” I said, resting my cheek thoughtfully against my left hand, my skin chilling slightly as it came in contact with Vilya. “I don’t suppose you could build me a tower, could you? A big, black one, taller than the Rig, from which I could oversee my domain?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Going into real estate, now?”

“Hey, shorefront property is all the rage, these days!”

He laughed. I joined him. It had been too long, I thought, since last we did this; laughing together like a father and daughter enjoying a private joke ought to.

In the kitchen, the kettle sang.

“Oh, I’ll get that,” Dad said. “Decaf, right?”

“Please.”

I watched as he went to the counter and began to prepare an herbal infusion from teabags.

“So…” Dad began, breaking the silence, “what kind of stuff have you been doing with the Wards?”

“They haven’t actually announced my membership, or even my existence, yet,” I told him. “I’m still basically confined to the Rig and PRT Headquarters until they do.”

“They’re probably still trying to decide how they want to go about it.”

“Probably” I agreed “I have the final say on most of it, although they have veto power if I do something stupid about it. De—um. Clockblocker got _his_ name because he announced it live without consulting them.”

“They weren’t happy about that, I bet.” Dad opened a cabinet, rummaging around for a pair of mugs.

“It isn’t exactly G,” I agreed.

“Shouldn’t he have the right to his own brand? I mean, he goes out and risks his life for people.”

I shrugged. “You’d think,” I said dryly. “God forbid the heroes be _human_. They have to be PR paragons, every one.”

“You don’t sound bitter at all,” said Dad with a chuckle. Teabags were dropped into each cup, and he began to pour the steaming water into them.

“I’m not, really. They love me. I’m literally going to be a knight in shining armor. As long as I don’t do anything stupid, I’ll be fine. I still don’t like having to bow and scrape or whatever, but it could be a lot worse.”

“I suppose it could.” Dad returned to the table with the two mugs. One he passed to me. I took the warm porcelain and held it in both hands, enjoying the heat on my fingers.

“Thanks.” I smiled at him.

“You’re welcome. But if you’re not out beating up crooks, what _have_ you been doing?”

“Tinkering, mostly. I finished my—oh, let me show you!”

I set down my teacup, crossed the room, tripped over the couch, got to my backpack and pulled out the small mithril lockbox I’d crafted at the Rig.

Dad laughed at me. I stuck my tongue out at him as I stood up again.

“This,” I said, returning to my seat, “is the Jewelry Box. I finished it yesterday.”

“It doesn’t have a lock on it,” Dad said, bemused.

“Try to open it,” I said, passing it to him.

He did. After straining for a moment, he handed it back. “Wow, that’s one strong box. Lid didn’t even budge.”

I took it and rang my finger along the line where the opening would appear. In a hushed whisper, I spoke the command words: “ _Edro a adlenc!_ ”

The shimmering glow of the Rings of Power within pierced the air as the box sprang wide, filling our dingy little room with multicolored light. Narya’s red and gold played merrily on the walls alongside Nenya’s silver and white. Their mesh formed an effect not unlike sunbeams filtered through several feet of clear water.

Dad sucked in a breath through a mouth which had fallen open, his wide brown eyes reflecting the glimmer like the warm light of a campfire.

“It’s protected by a command phrase in Sindarin,” I explained. “Since no one else _knows_ Sindarin, it’s pretty safe.”

“Sounds useful,” Dad agreed, his voice a little faint, his eyes still tracking the patterns of light on the wall.

I closed the Jewelry Box and set it aside by my plate. Dad shook himself and turned back to me. “Anyway, you’ve been doing a lot of forging on the Rig,” he said. “Any particular reason you can’t do that here?”

“I mean, they _prefer_ me to anyway,” I said, considering. “But that’s not the main reason. They just have better equipment. I need heat for forging, and sometimes an ice water bath for quenching. Besides that, I need access to good steel and other metals, because it’s easier to transmute those into mithril, and not everything’s made out of mithril anyway.”

Dad nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah,” he said. “I can see why you’d rather work there. Just… tell me if you’re going to stay there overnight, all right?”

“Sure,” I promised. “I doubt I’ll need to any time soon. I’ve got most of the equipment I really need in the short term now; I’ll probably be supplying my teammates for a while. Did you know Vista goes into combat _unarmed_? She should have a dagger, at least. And a sword would work well with Gallant’s armor.”

Dad smiled. “You’re definitely not short on ideas. I hope they appreciate what you do for them.”

“They will,” I said. “Once they’ve got the equipment I can offer, they definitely will.”


	14. Twinkle 2.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to dwood15 for betareading this chapter, and to the Cauldron discord for assisting in research.

Mrs. Knott looked up when the door to her classroom opened in the halfway through her class. I glanced over too. It was a little mousy girl who I’d seen before, but whose name I didn’t know. She shuffled her feet awkwardly when the class’ collective attention turned on her.

“Um, Mrs. Knott?” she said, her frame shrinking from the attention. “The office sent me.”

Mrs. Knott nodded encouragingly. “And what did they send you for, Savannah?”

“Uh, Taylor Hebert—she’s supposed to come with me. And to bring her things.”

 _Did Emma make trouble after yesterday?_ I wondered.

I shrugged and started packing up my things. “Don’t worry about homework. There’s not any today.” Mrs. Knott said, giving me a nod. “We’ll see you on Monday.”

“See you then.” I followed Savannah out of class without another word.

In silence, I followed Savannah down the hallway. She didn’t say a word to me as we walked; didn’t even glance my way once we’d left the classroom. It was fairly clear why. My social status was very much in flux; before now, basically anyone would have taken the opportunity of solitude to tease me. But many of them had seen the failure of Emma’s verbal attack the day before, and they’d seen Sophia avoiding me since Tuesday. Savannah wasn’t sure what interacting with me would do to her, and so was doing so as little as possible.

I almost had to laugh at how small her concerns were.

Blackwell’s secretary greeted us, immediately shooing Savannah away before letting me in to see the principal.

As we entered, the woman glanced up from Sophia who was already there. “Good,” she said as I started to close the door. “Shut the door, please.”

_I was already doing that._

I stepped in, gave Sophia an expressionless nod, and came to a halt beside her. Her jaw worked behind closed lips for a moment, her eyes narrowed at me, before she looked back at the principal.

“The PRT called,” Blackwell said. “Sophia, you are to retrieve your costume and meet a van outside—Taylor, they already have yours. You’ll change there. The Wards are being called to action.”

“What’s the situation?” I asked.

“I don’t know, Miss Hebert,” she said with an air of exasperation.

“We’ll find out on the way, I suppose. Thanks.” I glanced at Sophia as I turned away. “See you in the van.”

-x-x-x-

The PRT had, in fact, fetched my armor from headquarters. I started changing, beginning with the gauntlets. I’d finished with them--and with the necessary removal and replacement of Nenya--when Sophia stepped in, tossed her backpack beside her, and then started rummaging in it.

“They tell you what we’re here for?” she asked, a scowl on her face.

I shook my head. “We waited for you, don’t worry.” She gave me a look, but otherwise didn’t respond.

After Sophia closed the door, the driver spoke. “I’ll brief you while we move; we’re on a short timetable. Costumes?”

“Accounted for,” Sophia said. A rehearsed response. I’d need to read up on Wards procedure. I’d _started_ , but between power testing and finishing up my gauntlets and the Jewelry Box I hadn’t had time to commit them all to memory.

“Accounted for,” I repeated after an awkward silence.

“Amateur,” she said, rolling her eyes.

In answer, I just raised the middle finger of my right hand while the driver pulled out.

“The Undersiders are holding up Brockton Bay Central Bank,” he began, his tone one of cool professionalism. “The bank’s occupants are being held hostage. Normally, the Protectorate would be deployed, but unfortunately the local team is currently out of town at a publicity event. They are en route, but may be too late to assist.”

“A meet and greet. Can’t be bothered to do their _jobs_ because they’re busy getting drunk with a bunch of other rich snobs.”

“Are you rejecting this mission, Shadow Stalker?” the driver’s voice was hard.

“Nah,” she said, her cold voice muffled by her mask, her fingers drumming an idle rhythm on the handle of one of her crossbows.

The driver continued, voice grim. “Amy Dallon of New Wave, codename Panacea, is one of the hostages. It’s unlikely that the robbery will still be in progress once we arrive, but it was deemed sufficiently important to make the attempt to fetch you.”

“How long does a bank robbery usually take?” I asked.

“About twenty minutes,” Sophia said, “if the robbers are slow. There’s no way we make it, unless the others hold them long enough.”

 _I can change that._ “All right, give me your hand,” I said, holding mine out to Sophia, standing up--slightly bent so that I didn’t bump my head on the roof of the car.

She blinked at me. “...Why?”

I grinned. “Well, you want to get there on time, don’t you?”

I assume she grimaced under her mask, but she did take my hand.

“What are you doing, Annatar?” the driver asked.

“Oh, I was supposed to report new powers as they manifested, right?” I said, pulling Sophia in and lifting her into my arms. Nenya didn’t exactly give me enhanced strength the way Narya did, but it _did_ give me the capacity to carry heavier loads than I otherwise might. It was fitting--the Ring of Adamant made its bearer _unbowed_.

“The _fuck_ are you doing?” Sophia shouted harshly, beginning to struggle in my arms.

“Quit squirming!” I told her. Then, to the driver, “Here’s one, for the Water module. Super-speed. Sorta.” I opened the door. The driver slammed on the brakes, but I kept my footing, Nenya keeping me stable. “We’ll see you at the bank, sir.”

I jumped out of the van, Sophia in my arms, and began to run. I quickly gained speed, the buildings blurring to either side as I weaved in and out of traffic, slipping in the space between cars. Based on the speed difference between me and the cars around me, I had to be going at least sixty miles an hour.

Sophia was clutching me tightly, hands clasped around my neck. The strangely intimate position was acutely awkward, exaggerated by the fact that it was, well, _Sophia_.

She did, slowly, relax once I’d been running for about thirty seconds. Her mask, previously fixing its gaze firmly over my shoulder and behind me, looked up into my face. “Don’t you _dare_ drop me,” she hissed shakily.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

-x-x-x-

“Annatar,” Clockblocker greeted me as I ran up. “Superspeed? Did I miss something?”

“New power on the Water module.” I gently let Sophia down. Her legs shook slightly, but bore her weight. “I can switch to one of the others if--wait, shit. I don’t have my other modules here.” The Jewelry Box was still in my bag, and Aeglos was still on the floor of the van. “Also, Clock? Where’s Aegis?”

Clockblocker chuckled, but it was Carlos’ voice. “We switched costumes,” he said. “Safety precaution. I’m still in command. Which one’s Water again?”

“Stranger, thinker, shaker, mover,” I recited quickly.

“Understood.” Carlos—I couldn’t think of him as either Aegis _or_ Clockblocker—spoke firmly. “We’re up against _Tattletale_ , so there’s no guarantee your stranger powers will work—”

“I ran into Tattletale on my first night out,” I interrupted. “Water trumps her.”

He stared at me for a moment, then spoke. I could hear the grin in his voice. “Oh. _Perfect_. Could you go in now and take one out?”

“Depends. I can’t turn _invisible_ , just hide really well. Do we have access to an employee’s entrance? I can take cover in the teller’s booths and get them if I get an opening.”

Carlo-ckblocker nodded. “We don’t have much time—Glory Girl’s on the roof, and she’s not in the mood to wait. Can you guide Stalker through the infiltration, Annatar?”

“I don’t need fucking _guiding—_ ”

“Yes.” I could keep Sophia inside Nenya’s aura of concealment.

“Perfect. You two, go around the building to the right,” he pointed, “and use the employee’s entrance. Radio silence once you’re in. See if you can take out Grue, Hellhound, or both. The moment we get a hint of fighting, the Wards will move in—Vista will give us a route into the lobby, and we’ll bust in through the windows. _Be careful_.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed. “Stalker, don’t kill anyone. Let’s go.”

“Fuck you,” she said, but followed.

Creeping around the bank, we stayed behind the picket line until it wound its way past the alley we were making for, then crept along the wall and ducked into the shadow of the bank.

“I’ve got Grue,” Sophia muttered then. “You get on Hellhound.”

“ _Focus on the objective_. We’re here to thin the Undersiders _without_ drawing attention or causing collateral damage. If Grue gives us an opening, great, but we can’t go in half-cocked if he doesn’t.”

“You sound like Piggy.”

“Better her than you.”

“ _Fuck_ you, Annatar.”

I didn’t bother to answer. We were nearing the door. “You phase through and unlock it. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She slipped through the door in her shadow form silence while I focused on reaching out with Nenya’s power, trying to conceal us both. I was pretty sure it was working, but I hadn’t really used it on more than myself yet.

The door opened with a soft _click_ as the lock came undone. Sophia was crouched on the other side. She gave a thumbs-up--I assumed that meant she hadn’t been seen.

I nodded. “Stay low,” I said. “Let’s get behind the tellers’ desks.”

She nodded and I silently followed her through the break room, down a corridor, and into the employee’s section of the lobby.

Voices reached my ears as the door opened—low, but Nenya brought them to my ears anyway. “You got us into this mess,” a male voice was saying. Probably one of the male Undersiders--it was vaguely familiar. “Can you get us out?”

“I’m trying to think, Grue,” said a girl—Tattletale, I guessed. “Just… keep watching. They won’t come in here while we have hostages.”

“You think hostages are going to stop Collateral Damage Barbie, if that’s really her on the roof?” A voice I recognized as Regent drawled. Sophia huffed something like a laugh.

“They’ll hold her off from doing anything stupid, at least,” said Tattletale grimly. “Now be quiet. I need to think. Why would she have come so—oh shit. Guys? We just took Panacea hostage.”

_And now that they’ve realized that, they could use her for leverage._

I closed my eyes and allowed Nenya to reach out. My ears seemed to sharpen, and I felt a faint prickling at their tips. Suddenly I heard _more_ —the heavy and shallow breathing of worried or frightened hostages, the panting of Hellhound’s dogs, the creak of Grue’s leather gloves as he clenched his fist.

“Tats,” he said darkly, “you _really_ fucked the dog here.”

“I can’t be right every time.”

“We going or not?” Sophia breathed into my ear.

I held up a finger, eyes still closed. “Quiet,” I said, my voice barely a puff of air. “I’m listening.”

Regent was crossing the lobby, coming our way. Grue and Tattletale converged on the hostages—probably looking to pick out Panacea. I heard the click of Tattletale’s heels and the tramp of Grue’s boots moving away, while the faint padding of Regent’s finer leathers came our way. By the panting of her dogs and the rustling of their fur, Hellhound was staying fairly near to the main door of the bank on the back of one of her hounds. Two more paced around the hostages, keeping them corralled.

This was our chance.

Regent came to a halt, leaning against one of the tellers’ booths. I crept along until I was across from him. Then, in one motion, I stood up, set one gauntleted hand across Regent’s mouth, and struck him on the temple with my other fist.

He went limp in my arms with a muffled grunt. I quickly tugged him over the booth and backward into my lap as I crouched back down. Nenya muffled the sound of his body scraping over the wood. None of the other Undersiders seemed to notice.

“Nice,” Sophia murmured, barely audible as she studied the unconscious Undersider. She quickly withdrew a tranquilized dart from her holster and jabbed it into his leg. “One down.”

“Three to go. Quiet.”

“Regent?” Grue’s deep, masculine voice was loud in the bank, clearly cutting over all other sound.

“Shit,” said Tattletale. “The Wards are in here. They have a stranger.”

“The Wards don’t _have_ a stranger.”

“They do now. Probably that girl from Saturday. Hey, Ward! Give up Regent, or we _will_ start shooting hostages!”

Her eyes met mine. “I’ll protect the hostages,” I said, nodding. I didn’t have Aeglos, but I didn’t need it to be dangerous.

Sophia nodded in return.

“Last chance!” Tattletale called over the sound of a gun cocking. “Come out now!”

“That’s our cue,” my teammate said as I withdrew Nenya’s protection. I vaulted over the booth and dove into action.


	15. Twinkle 2.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to dwood15 for betareading.

Sophia and I separated as we jumped into the fray. I charged between Grue and the hostages, one of Hellhound's dogs on either side of me. Sophia entered her shadow state, flowing like a wisp of cloud, and made a beeline for Tattletale.

“Get us out of here!” Grue called to Hellhound as he moved to intercept Shadow Stalker. He raised his hands toward Shadow Stalker, and darkness billowed forth like oily smoke, streaming towards her.

Hellhound’s dogs approached me, baring their fangs. A quick whistle from their mistress, however, and they turned from me and galloped in her direction without a backward glance.

That wouldn’t do. They’d have a nonzero chance of getting away on their mounts. _Not acceptable._ With a raise of my hand the two monstrosities collided headfirst into a barrier, cutting them off from Hellhound. The impact left me slightly winded, Nenya’s power draining away temporarily to power the barrier, but I shook it off and turned towards the hostages.

“Get to cover,” I ordered them. “Be careful, and don’t get involved.”

A growling and a thudding alerted me to a charging dog. I turned and threw up another barrier to halt its assault on me. It mashed into the air before me and I exhaled sharply at the impact. These things hit like _trucks_.

In a cacophony of breaking glass the windows burst inward, and there were the others. Almost at the same time, a section of the roof caved in and a girl in a cape and tiara burst down into the lobby—Glory Girl.

Clockblocker—in Aegis’ suit—rushed towards Hellhound. Aegis—in Clockblocker’s—dove headfirst into the growing darkness containing Grue, Shadow Stalker, and Tattletale. Browbeat followed them in, but stayed near the outer door. Glory Girl moved to intercept the dog that was neither gnawing on my barrier nor carried Hellhound.

The darkness was still growing, still spreading outward. Sophia’s body flew out, rolling in my direction. Tattletale followed after her, oily darkness trailing behind, pistol trained on the prone form.

I held up a hand. “You don’t want to do that,” I advised her.

The girl in purple laughed harshly. “No,” she agreed. “I really don’t. Trainwreck!”

A cape seemingly composed entirely of scrap-metal burst through the lobby wall. Plaster and tiling from the bathroom on the other side flew everywhere in an explosion of dust and debris. I hadn’t heard of him before, but this must be Trainwreck. My eyes, enhanced by Nenya, sharpened to see into the cloud. Behind the armored villain was a woman in a jester’s colorful outfit in red and purple. Another villain I didn’t recognize.

Nenya was _not_ the Ring I wanted to be wearing right now. The Ring of Protection was perfect for avoiding or stopping fights; it was less ideal for actually engaging in them. That didn’t make it useless, however.

I charged, the Ring of Adamant lending wings to my steps. I crossed the room in a fraction of a second and struck Trainwreck like, well, a speeding train. I impacted him with a rugby check, my shoulder embedding itself in his armored chest, the mithril smacking into the rusted iron with a blunted _clang_. He staggered backwards and almost fell before his feet found purchase. He reached for me then, but I rolled out of his grip and struck at the clown cape with a punch.

She blocked it with—where the _hell_ had she gotten a _car door_?

She winked at me through the window and then the door was gone, replaced by a sledgehammer, which struck me in the side like a ton of bricks. I fell sideways, away from the both of them and into Grue’s darkness.

I heard little, saw less. I picked myself up, glancing around uselessly in the dark mists. Where was Grue? He hadn’t jumped on me yet, but that didn’t mean much.

I’d been rolling as I fell into the darkness, and no longer knew which way led out. With a sigh, I picked a direction, hoping it would lead me back into the fray. Allowing Nenya to enhance my speed, I turned about ninety degrees and ran.

I came out of the darkness going pretty fast. The first thing I saw? The head of a sledgehammer, streamers dangling behind it, accelerating towards my face.

It hit me in the center of my brow, and my helmet rang like a gong, my head rattling. I slipped and fell, my lower body still sliding forward under my inertia so that I slipped under the clown girl’s arms like child playing limbo.

I fell on my back between the clown and Carlos, the back of my helmet striking the ground hard. _Then_ the pain came. It was the worst headache I’d ever had and then some. A thick fog was descending over the world, clogging my sight and my thoughts alike.

I’m pretty sure I swore. I’m pretty sure I swore in at least three languages, actually, none of which were English. Which was probably fortunate, since I think some of what I said would have made Dad’s most hardened dockworker blush.

I rolled onto my stomach, my mouth still running in a mixture of Sindarin, Quenya, and Khuzdul, and pushed myself up, trying in vain to blink the stars out of my eyes.

As I got to my knees, the world flared with red light. Even as I leaned back from the rush of light and heat, the fire twisted away from me and blew into Carlos’ face.

As fast as it arrived, the torch was gone from the clown girl’s hand and one of her legs was coming up. Suddenly there was a heavy combat boot on her foot. It rushed towards my face, and I was sent sprawling back again.

I think that was the first time I cursed in Valarin. The word itself was unprintable, and not just because Valarin, as a language, looks and sounds like what you might get if French and Arabic had sex with the Cyrillic alphabet in a bizarre orgy, with Cantonese getting in on the action about halfway through.

I leapt to my feet, trying to ignore the hazy film descending over my eyes. I was definitely concussed, but was finding it hard to worry about it. Probably because of the aforementioned concussion. What was important, at the moment, was the fucking _clown_ who had hit me with a sledgehammer twice and then _literally_ kicked me in the teeth.

I charged her. She fell back and _again with the fucking car door_.

Nenya flowed into me like water. I slipped around the shield faster than she could react and grabbed her by the back of the head. Then, before she could do more than blink, I brought her forehead into the door’s window so hard that the glass cracked.

She went down.

“Who has a headache now?” I tried to say. It came out more like, “woosahdechnau.”

“Are you okay, Annatar?” Carlos asked sharply. “Circus hit you pretty hard.”

 _Circus._ That was her name. A good name for a fucking battle-clown. But, seriously, a _car door_?

“Annatar?”

“Mfin.”

“What?”

I ignored him and turned about, surveying the situation. Tattletale and Hellhound were nowhere to be seen. Grue was standing stock-still and alone on the outer edge of his own darkness as it began to dissipate. Trainwreck was running at me, deflecting punches by Glory Girl.

I charged at the armored tinker, meeting him halfway. I slipped inside his guard, flowing around his reaching arms like water, got a grip on his chestpiece, and _lifted_.

Even though I wasn’t strong enough to hold him there, I could throw him. So I did. A moment later there was a loud crash as he slammed into the wall.

A shadow rushed past me, skirting around the edge of the cloud of darkness. I followed, putting the shadow cloud between me and Circus.

Then there was a giant dog in front of me, and I was knocked back on my butt. It had just dived into the shadow cloud. I blinked after it as I stood up, disoriented, and a moment later it dived _back_ out, and this time Circus was in its mouth.

“Hey!” I shouted. “Notakinarpursnurs.”

The dog didn’t seem to care about my command and just loped away past me at a run. I ran after it, through the hole in the bank’s wall it had come through. Had there been a hole there before it came in?

I didn’t notice the dog had a long, lizardlike prehensile tail until it whipped around and struck me hard. I was thrown backwards by the impact against my stomach, tumbling several feet before coming to a halt.

By the time I could pick myself up, the hound was long gone.

“Annatar!” Carlos was beside me. “Are you all right?”

I took a deep breath and forced my mouth to obey. “Concussn,” I said, slowly and as clearly as I could manage. “Circs got ‘way.”

“It’s all right.” Aegis’ voice was firm. “We’ve got two captures, and that’s not bad at all. The Undersiders have lost two members, and we’ve got Trainwreck. That’s a good mission. Come on; let’s get you out of here.”

He took my arm and led me back inside. I followed, stumbling slightly. Grue’s cloud of shadows still rested, slowly fading, in a space near the center of the room, close to the door. The villain was still frozen, Sophia standing beside him. A tranquilizer dart was in her hand, ready to dose him the moment he unfroze.

Vista and Kid win had come in from outside—I figured they must have been outside to deal with any who tried to escape. I didn’t see anything of Tattletale, Hellhound, or Circus. Regent was leaning by a pillar, still out cold. Trainwreck, too, was sitting unconscious against a wall.

Dennis, in Aegis’ costume, was talking to a few PRT troopers near the door. The hostages huddled in a corner, with another trio of PRT troopers debriefing them.

All except one, a mousy-haired girl in jeans and a hoodie, who was sitting in a chair and seemed to be staving off questions by Glory Girl.

 _Panacea,_ I realized.

“Cn shfix mahed?” I asked Carlos.

He shook his head. “Panacea can’t do brains,” he said. “Besides, Piggot wants us back at base ASAP. Getting healed in the field is apparently worse for PR then getting healed the moment Panacea gets to HQ. Don't worry, she'll be following us there.”

“Ah cnt debrf likthes. Wun be eblta tak.”

I tipped over. Carlos caught me and held me up. “Easy there,” he said. “Come on, let’s get you to a van.”

He led me outside and into the parking lot. There were a few PRT vans present, parked in a ring around the bank. There were also a few flashing lights every so often from cameras. Each one set me reeling slightly, the light lancing into my concussed brain like fire.

“Annatar!” one PRT trooper came up to me. “Your spear is still in my van.”

“Sosmbox,” I said.

“What?”

“ _Box_.”

“Let’s get her to your van,” Carlos said to the trooper, and the two of them, each to one side of me, led me toward the guy’s van.

When I was in the back, i scrabbled around in my backpack until I found the mithril box I’d left. “Edrdlnc,” I mumbled at it.

The Jewelry Box didn’t open.

“ _Edrodlenc._ ”

Nothing.

“Fuck.”

“Annatar?”

I glanced back at Carlos. Right; I was supposed to be keeping my Rings secret anyway. Probably for the best that I hadn’t managed to get at Vilya, even if it would clear my head.

“‘Sfin,” I told him. “We goin’ bakka headqurts?”

“Soon,” he promised. Then, to the PRT trooper, “ _Don’t_ let her fall asleep. I’ll get a Ward to relieve you in a moment. Call a medic immediately if she worsens.”

“All right, Clockblocker,” said the driver evenly. “But shouldn’t Aegis be in command?”

“Consider this to have his authority. Ask him if you want.”

“ _Edro a adl_ unk.” I almost managed the command phrase.

Carlos glanced back at me, then at the trooper. “Another Ward or two will be with you shortly. Don’t leave until at least one of us is there to keep Annatar awake.”

“Iwonslepp,” I promised, but Carlos was already gone. I shrugged and returned to my attempts to get at Vilya.


	16. Twinkle 2.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to dwood15 for betareading.

“Aegis,” said Piggot coldly. “You want to explain yourself?”

Carlos stood stiffly by my bedside. I was lying down swaddled in white bedclothes in the infirmary, my blurred vision barely allowing me to make out the shape of the woman by the door. I couldn’t see her face clearly enough to tell her expression, but her tone made it was fairly clear that she wasn’t smiling.

“I took the actions I deemed most likely to fulfill our mission objectives, Ma’am,” said Aegis, his back straight as a board.

“Including sending an untested _trial Ward_ in with a member of the team with whom she’s _known_ to have issues to infiltrate a hostage situation? You’re going to need to walk me through _that_ bit of reasoning.”

“At least two of the enemy parahumans were largely unknown quantities. Tattletale is a combat thinker of unknown potential, and the mechanics of Hellhound’s control over her minions are still unknown. I couldn’t authorize a direct engagement, and maintaining a stalemate only allowed them further time to take advantage of their hostages. Since Annatar informed me that her stranger abilities defeated Tattletale’s thinker rating, I opted to allow her to infiltrate. Rather than sending her alone, I sent the only other Stranger on the squad in with her. I stand by those decisions, Ma’am.”

“You are _aware_ of the procedures surrounding a hostage situation, Aegis?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Then what would you say is the first step to that procedure?”

“Establish communications with the perpetrator, Ma’am.”

“Is that what you did?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“ _Why not_?”

“Because this was not a conventional hostage situation, Ma’am. The Undersiders aren’t desperate criminals with a bad case of tunnel vision like those protocols were designed for; they’re trained parahuman combatants with at least one thinker. Given the unknowns surrounding Tattletale in particular, I made the call to forgo mediated negotiations as they may have been detrimental, and would have been dangerous.”

“And sending in an infiltration team wasn’t?”

“With all due respect, Ma’am, I trust Annatar and Shadow Stalker’s abilities to infiltrate more than I trust myself to negotiate with a thinker of unknown capability,” Aegis reported, his pose loosening slightly. “In addition, Annatar’s shaker abilities were ideal for protecting hostages once she was able to get between them and the Undersiders.”

Silence fell. I tried to blink the fog out of my eyes, and then clenched my eyes shut to try to ride out the headache.

“Ma’am?” Aegis said, his voice perfectly devoid of emotion. After a moment’s silence he spoke again. “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to give Annatar a chance to rest.”

Piggot sighed. “You’re right. Get out of here, all of you; we’ll continue in my office.”

After a short moment, I was alone in the medical wing.

I reached over to my bedside and picked up the Jewelry Box. I took a couple of deep breaths to steady myself, and then spoke, clearly and firmly.

“ _Edro a adlenc._ ”

The box snapped open.

Off came Nenya, and on went Vilya. My ring-bearing hand went straight to my pounding head, and I began to channel my power. Vilya’s sapphire shone blue as its power flared, casting light which played on the walls of the room and shone even through my closed eyelids when I blinked.

Slowly, the pain receded and my vision cleared. With a snap, I shut the Jewelry Box.

I stared up at the ceiling, running through all that had happened in my head.

I’d had my first real experience in parahuman combat as part of a team, brought the wrong Ring to the fight, left both Aeglos and my box (not that I could have carried both them and Sophia regardless), gotten myself concussed, _probably_ compromised the security of the Jewelry Box, and just generally made a fool of myself. I’d failed to capture an enemy cape even after knocking her out, and left Sophia to care for the hostages while I went in to fight even though I was the one suited for defense.

“Well, that could have gone better.”

-x-x-x-

Panacea came in some time later. The light streaming in through the windows had changed slightly in quality as the sun began to sink low, taking on a faint golden tint. I’d been humming a tune idly, but stopped when the door opened.

“Annatar,” she greeted, all business. “I can’t fix your concussion—”

“No need,” I interrupted, sitting up. “I dealt with it.”

She blinked at me. “…You have a healing factor? No one told me.”

“New power,” I admitted. “I manifest them fairly often. And it’s not a healing factor; it’s healer-striker. Like you!”

She just stared at me. I watched her face as it shifted, lightning-fast, between expressions. A widening of the eyes, the faintest scowl, a clenched jaw, a slackening as of exhaustion, a pursing of lips, and finally, neutrality. Resignation.

“How does it work?” she asked eventually.

I considered. “I suppose I touch someone who...” I paused, thinking through my wording. “...who I know has something wrong with them,” I continued slowly, “and then I focus on fixing that thing.”

“You can do it to yourself?”

“Yeah. You can’t?”

“No,” Panacea shook her head. “I can’t manipulate my own biology.”

 _Manipulate my own biology_. Not _heal myself_.

I considered her. “Do you have any injuries you want me to fix, then?” I offered.

“I’m all right,” she said quickly. “Um, I should probably give you a diagnostic anyway. May I?”

I nodded, then pointed at my face. “Afraid you’ll have to use my chin, unless you want me to undo the gauntlets.”

“No, that’s fine,” she said, and set a finger against my skin.

I waited.

She frowned. “…That’s weird,” she mumbled.

“What is?”

“You definitely used powers to fix your concussion, and it’s fixed, but…”

“But what?”

“Well, your gemma’s… small, I guess.”

I blinked at her. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not sure, although I admit I don’t know much about the gemma. It’s the part of the brain that manifests after trigger events. You’ve _got_ one, but it’s atrophied. With the lack of activity I’m seeing there, it seems… dead.”

“…Should I be worried?”

“Probably not,” Panacea said. “The gemma appears in a different place and manifests differently in every parahuman. I can only recognize it because it and the corona are the only parts of the brain that my power doesn’t help me make heads or tails of. You clearly have powers, and some capes don’t even have _brains_. You’re probably fine. Uh, you _do_ still feel like you have powers, right?”

“Definitely,” I said, thumbing the cool band of Vilya on my finger.

“Well then. Should be fine.”

I shrugged. “All right. So what’s your diagnosis, doc?”

“Well, your concussion’s healed,” Panacea reported. “You had some bruising on your shoulder, probably from bouncing around in that tin can. I fixed it for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Panacea, then hesitated. “…Could you have fixed it yourself?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I didn’t notice it because I haven’t moved much since I fixed my concussion. In the future, so long as I’m conscious, you probably won’t have to worry about me.”

Panacea nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the help at the bank. I appreciate it.”

I grimaced. “I could really have done better, but you’re welcome.”

Panacea stepped away from my bedside. “I’ll let them know you’re better,” she said, “and then I’ve got to run. I should probably be headed home. Later, Annatar.”

“See you, Panacea.”

-x-x-x-

A few minutes later, I was standing across from Piggot’s desk in her office. The whole scene deeply reminded me of my initial Wards interview. So much had happened; it was strange to think that was only two days ago.

This time, however, I was Piggot’s subordinate, rather than someone she wanted on board. And by the grim frown on her face, she wasn’t especially happy with me.

“Annatar,” said Piggot, studying me over steepled fingers. “The medical staff have told me you’ve fixed your own concussion?”

I nodded. “It’s a power on the Air module. It’s actually Air’s central power, I think.”

“Central power?”

“Each of the Three has a theme,” I explained—partly for Piggot’s benefit, and partly to walk myself through what I’d only recently discovered. “Fire is strength, Water is protection. Air is healing.”

“I thought Air was the master/striker one?”

Grimacing, I nodded. “I don’t really know how that one ties in, honestly.”

Piggot grunted. “Well, that doesn’t matter. Do you know why I wanted to talk to you now, before I sent you home for the day?”

“No.”

“No, _Ma’am_.”

I twitched slightly, but nodded. “No, Ma’am. Sorry.”

“You’re new,” Piggot said. “I’ll forgive you not knowing procedure, so long as you learn—which is why we’re going to have a conversation, now, instead of giving you a month’s worth of console duty on top of the mandatory training hours you’re going to receive.”

I grimaced.

“Do you know what the first thing you did counter to protocol was, Annatar?”

I thought about it. “Using my new power to get to the bank,” I guessed.

“Close,” Piggot said. “Not waiting for clearance to do so before you did. You should have called console, or me, first. Do you know why?”

“So you can keep track of my powers?”

“That’s a side benefit. No, it’s so that our people don’t see an unknown speedster approaching a combat zone and shoot on sight because a potentially hostile parahuman is running at them.”

I twitched.

“You’re fortunate your driver called ahead.” Piggot told me. “Otherwise, you could have been covered in containment foam for the duration of the fighting. My _job_ is to coordinate these things, and facilitate communication between on-the-ground leaders like Aegis, Annatar. I need to know about them.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“What was your next mistake?”

“Charging at Trainwreck?”

Piggot nodded. “You left the hostages exposed,” she said. “Shadow Stalker was nearby, but you were the one with the barriers, and you left them to engage an armored tinker in CQC. That’s another mistake: _don’t engage power armor in CQC_ , unless you have a countermeasure. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“The hostages should have been your priority, _not_ the enemy parahuman. Your job is, first and foremost, _protecting innocent people_ , not taking in villains.”

“Understood. Sorry.”

“Just don’t screw it up again.” Piggot leaned forward. “Now, what was your last mistake?”

I blinked. “Um… Getting knocked out of my pursuit of Circus?”

“You shouldn’t have been pursuing her in the first place,” Piggot said darkly. “Your last mistake, Annatar, was _staying in combat_ after sustaining a debilitating injury—namely, a serious concussion. That’s the kind of thing that makes enemy parahumans assume you’re a resilient brute, which makes them stop holding back. Which Circus then _did_. You were lucky not to sustain serious brain damage.”

“It was a combat situation,” I protested. “I couldn’t just stop fighting—”

“When the options are withdraw or risk serious injury,” Piggot said flatly, “I want you to choose to _withdraw_ every time. Wards are not supposed to get killed in the line of duty, even here in Brockton Bay. You understand me?”

I gritted my teeth, then sighed and nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. I’m not in the habit of explaining myself to my subordinates,” Piggot said, “so don’t expect me to explain next time. You’re getting off easy because you’ve only been in the Wards for two days and if I had my way you’d still be in intensive training rather than going out into the field, if we had the facilities and weren’t as understaffed as we are. Still, don’t expect this again. Clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She nodded, and then sighed. “For the record,” she added, “I applaud you on quick use of a new power. Getting yourself and Shadow Stalker to the combat zone was well done, although you should have called it in.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

Piggot nodded. “All right,” she said. “Do you plan to do any tinkering here tonight, or are you headed home?”

I considered. “Do you want me here for some reason?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then I’ll probably head home. Dad’ll want to talk, and my plans can wait for tomorrow.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow. Make sure you start committing combat protocols to memory.”

“I will.”

“One more thing, Annatar,” said Piggot just as I turned to leave. “You were using the Water module, correct?”

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“I thought that gave you enhanced senses? Why didn’t you detect Trainwreck and Circus?”

I grimaced. “Loophole in the power, I think. I’ll need to do some testing.” I bit my lip. “My current guess is that the power technically _reveals the hidden_ , rather than just enhancing my senses—which means, basically, that it shows me more wherever I’m looking, but doesn’t help me at all if I’m not looking. I was looking in at the lobby for the Undersiders. Once I found them, I stopped looking. Since I didn’t think to check for other parahumans, I didn’t find Circus and Trainwreck.”

“That’s… a bit arbitrary.”

“Like I said, it’s just my best guess. I still need to test it.”

“See to that tomorrow, then, before you start tinkering.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Anything else?”

“No, that’ll do.”


	17. Interlude 2b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to dwood15 for betareading, and to the Cauldron discord for assisting in research. In particular, thanks to Reyemile for assisting with research and writing of the first scene and mixed drinks in general.

Alex sat alone at the bar, at least one empty stool between him and the next person to either side. Around him, the Palanquin was practically screaming with activity. The music set the whole space rumbling, pounding with frantic energy, the bass making Alex’s glass rattle.

He hated it, but he needed the distraction right now, and there was nothing like loud music to shut down bussing thoughts.

When he—well, _she_ , she’d been in costume then—had come to en route to the Undersiders’ lair, Tattletale had immediately called a halt.

“Can you walk?” she’d asked.

Alex had responded with an affirmative.

“Then start,” Tattletale had ordered. “You’re going to have to find your own way back to Coil.”

So Circus had done just that. Her head had hurt—hell, it _still_ hurt, even hours later—but she hadn’t been unsteady or dizzy, so she’d figured she’d be fine.

Coil hadn’t been at his base when she’d arrived. He’d come later, taken one look at her, and called her into his office.

It was there that she’d learned just how badly she’d fucked up.

“You are aware that I have informants in the PRT?” Coil had asked.

“Yes, sir,” she’d replied.

“Let me tell you what those informants told me,” he’d said grimly. “The girl in armor, Annatar, whom you struck with a sledgehammer directly to the head? She’s now in their medical facilities for a possibly crippling concussion.”

Circus’ jaw had dropped open. “What?” she’d stammered. “But… she was a brute! She took a hammer to the side and got right back up!”

“Her armor is tinkertech,” Coil had said flatly. “It defended her from the blow to her side, at least for the most part, but her head was not protected except by the helmet, which you struck hard enough to bring down a wall.”

Circus had fallen into a chair at that point. “Oh, God,” she’d said. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” Coil had confirmed. “Don’t worry; with luck, Annatar will make a full recovery and this will all blow over. If all else fails, I’ll help you relocate and rebrand, as thanks for your assistance today.”

 _His other operation must have gone off without a hitch,_ Alex thought, considering the drinks menu above the bar.

He flagged down the bartender—a woman with long black hair done up in a ponytail, with a white dress shirt and rolled sleeves.

“Old Fashioned, please,” he said.

“Sure. You got a favorite bourbon?”

“The Pappy 20.” It was, far and away, the most expensive drink on the menu.

The woman looked at him oddly. “…In a mixer? You sure? Seems like a waste.”

“My money. I’ll waste it how I want. Right now, I want Pappy 20 in an Old Fashioned.”

The woman shrugged. “You got it. Gonna have to ask for the cash up front, though.”

Alex pulled out his wallet, counted out $200, and handed it to the woman.

She slipped it into her register and set about making the drink. “I’m not going to ask where the money came from,” she said casually. “Just going to ask: is it dirty enough that I need to worry about having it?”

“No,” said Alex firmly. “Won’t bring you any trouble. Got my word on that.” _For whatever that’s worth._

“I’ll trust you,” said the woman. She began mixing the drink, pouring a middling amount of sugar into the glass and then fishing under the bar for bitters and fruit. “Not often I have someone spend that kind of money on anything, though. Something go wrong?”

Alex snorted. “The old ‘sympathetic bartender’ routine?”

“Not my fault if it works.” She gave him a wink as she began to muddle the mixture in the bottom of his glass.

He sighed. “Did something I regret,” he admitted. “But you figured that much out already, I’m sure.”

“Not hard,” said the woman. She carefully removed the orange rind from his drink and poured a generous helping of very expensive liquor.

“Thanks."

“Hey, like you said, your money. Hope it’s worth it.”

He puffed out a breath of air in an imitation of amusement. “Probably not,” he said. “But hey. Never had a mixer this expensive before. It’s novel.”

“Novelty’s worth something,” the bartender allowed.

He considered her. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Melanie,” she said. “Yours?”

“Alex.”

“Nice to meet you. Feel free to spend hundreds at my bar anytime.”

Alex chuckled. “I just might.”

“Boss?” the bouncer came up behind him. The bartender looked up.

“Someone here to see you,” he said shortly, glancing at Alex. “Said to tell you, uh, that she wasn’t blinking.”

Melanie frowned. “What’d she look like?”

“Little blond girl. Maybe eighteen, if that?”

“Tell me you’re joking, Carl.”

“Sorry, Boss.”

“Fuck,” said Melanie dryly. “Okay. Bad timing, but this is definitely important. Okay, Carl, I need you to send her up—with George, don’t let her go wandering alone. But take about a minute before you do, all right? Stay in here for about a minute, then go out and send her up. Got it?”

“Yeah, got it.”

“Good.” Melanie gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry, duty calls,” she said, slipping a hand into her pocket, pulling out a phone.

“No problem,” he said.

She dialed a number and put the receiver to her ear. “Sarah? Melanie. I need you to cover the bar for me. Get down here quickly. Good. Thanks.”

Hanging up, she glanced at him. “Going to have to leave the bar unattended,” she said. “Don’t get any ideas about the Pappy, all right?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Nice. Sorry to leave you hanging.”

She strode out from behind the bar and headed upstairs.

Alex sighed, drained the rest of his drink, and left the bar himself. He headed for the bathroom and, after making sure he wasn’t being watched, slipped into the ladies’ room.

He entered a stall and activated his power. His navy-blue button-down and grey slacks disappeared, as did the bindings for his breasts and the sock in his underwear. Another activation, and she was in an unassuming black skirt and light blue blouse.

She _hated_ going out as a civilian woman, but it would make the rest of this easier.

She slipped back out of the bathroom and leaned against a wall, idly tapping her foot to the rhythm of the bass as it thrummed through her being.

“Hey there sweetheart,” said a guy as he slipped off the dance floor and took up a spot on the wall beside her. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Alex actually laughed. “That line ever actually work for you?” she asked.

He wasn’t half bad-looking, honestly. Boyish blue eyes looked out from between a head of short blond hair and a carefully-trimmed beard. He wore a great deal of blue; a blue sport-coat over jeans.

The image was ruined, here in Brockton Bay, by the knowledge that handsome, wealthy, white Anglo-Saxon men were almost as likely to be Neo-Nazis as anything else.

“You might be surprised,” he said lightly. “It’s an oldie, but a goodie. Question stands, though. You’re looking awfully lonely, here.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” she said.

“They can. Are they? You still shopping, or have you already picked who you’re going home with tonight?”

She gave the guy a dry glance. “You and I,” she said dryly, “are looking for _very_ different things tonight. Just move on; you’ll have more time to try with girls who are actually up for it.”

He sighed. “So quick to judge.”

“I’ve been hit on before,” she said coolly. “You weren’t the worst, and I might’ve entertained you if I were in the mood. I’m not. Give it up, buddy.”

“Fair enough,” he said, moving away. Finally. There were a few reasons she went male as a civilian and female in costume.

And there was the bouncer, coming through the door now, a familiar blonde girl following behind. She was wearing a green dress which hugged her curves nicely and left her shoulders bare. She was a little overdressed for the Palanquin, but then, she wasn’t _here_ for the club.

Alex noticed that she had freckles on her face. She hadn’t seen those before.

No, she was here for protection.

Alex pushed off the wall and casually, keeping her distance, followed the girl and the bouncer until he’d led her to a stairwell. Then the girl stopped the guy and pointed back at her.

Alex waved and approached.

“Hello,” said the girl in green.

“Hey,” said the woman in blue.

“You two know each other?” the bouncer asked.

“Oh, yes,” said the girl in green, an odd smile on her face. “Co-workers, you could say. A shared employer.”

“Can you let her know I’d like a word too?” Alex asked the girl in green.

“Sure,” she replied. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to accommodate.”

After that, the girl in green was led upstairs. Alex settled against the wall again to wait.

After a few minutes, George the bouncer came back down. “Boss says to come up,” he said.

Alex followed him up the stairs and into a sort of VIP room. The music was muted here by the separation, although it was still loud. Booths lined the walls, and in one, a few girls were lying slumped around a boy, about seventeen, who seemed quite happy to be surrounded by him.

His skin was orange.

Alex followed the bouncer down the hall and into the office of the club’s proprietor.

Tattletale smiled up at her as she entered, those green eyes sparking with mischief. “Nice of you to join us,” she said.

Alex didn’t smile back. Instead, she looked at Faultline, whose mask was now firmly in place. When George, after a gesture from the mercenary, closed the door, Alex spoke. “Hello again, Melanie,” he said.

Faultline nodded. “Alex,” she said. “Or do you prefer Circus?”

“Circus in costume,” she said. “Alex in civvies.”

“Even when you’re slumming it with us girls?” Tattletale asked lightly.

“Even then,” said Alex.

“So,” said Faultline. “Tattletale, I hope you don’t mind if I deal with this first, but Alex. That ‘thing you regret doing?’ Might that be almost braining a fucking Ward earlier today?”

Alex twitched. “I thought she was a brute,” she said.

“She is,” Tattletale said. “But only because of the armor.”

“I got that, thanks.”

“So why are you here?”

“Almost killing someone has a way of making you rethink your life, yeah?” Tattletale offered.

Alex nodded. “No matter how bad what I did today was,” she said evenly, “what Coil did was worse. It… put things in perspective.”

“Yeah,” said Tattletale. “For me, it was the fact that, without Grue or Regent, I’m more useful to him as a basement thinker than in the field. I really don’t want to be holed up in that creep’s basement, if that’s all the same to everyone.”

“Back up,” said Faultline. “Alex. What did Coil do?”

“The bank job was a distraction,” said Alex. “Coil knew the Protectorate would be out of the Bay today, so he hired us and the Undersiders to get the Wards busy on a high-profile crime. Meanwhile, his guys kidnapped a middle-school girl from her campus.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No,” Tattletale confirmed, looking slightly sick. “Holy shit, she’s a thinker, isn’t she?”

“A precog,” Alex said. “He’s going to keep her locked in his basement, drugged to the gills, and feeding him predictions.”

“And that’s what he’d have done to me.”

“If he felt the Undersiders weren’t useful anymore… yeah, probably.”

“Fuck,” said Faultline. “Look, Tattletale, I’m a _mercenary_ —”

“You’re a bleeding heart and you know it,” Tattletale snapped. “Look, Faultline, I don't much like you, but you’re my best shot at freedom. I’m not going to the Wards, it’s not safe enough.. Every other group in the city is either too horrible to consider or in Coil’s pocket. If you don’t help me, you’re consigning me to Coil’s _fucking_ basement.”

Faultline gritted her teeth. “And you, Alex?” she asked. “What do you want out of this?”

“Out,” said Alex simply. “There’s not much I won’t do, but killing people’s one of them. Another is keeping a little girl drugged out of her mind. You take me, I’ll help you on any job you name that isn’t one of those things or worse.”

“We don’t _do_ worse,” said Faultline flatly. “So… fuck. Fine. But we need to plan. Coil’s never been as minor as the heroes like to think he is, and if he has a _precog_ now I don’t like our chances.”

“Don’t worry, Faultline,” said Tattletale smugly. “Planning’s my specialty. Since we all know each other’s names now… I’m Lisa. Lisa Wilbourn.”

“Melanie Fitts.”

“Alex Farrell.”

Lisa laughed aloud. “Don’t you love how we’re all using assumed names?” she asked.

Melanie glared at her, then turned to Alex. “Lisa’s useless without information,” she said. “So talk to us, Alex. What do we have on Coil?”

And Alex began to tattle.


	18. Twinkle 2.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to dwood15 for betareading.

Sophia was playing with one of her crossbows when I entered the lobby, flipping it over in her hand like a cowboy with a revolver from an old western. She glanced up as I stepped in. None of the other Wards were here.

“Hebert,” she greeted.

“Hess.”

We were out of costume. My armor was secure in my locker; her suit, I imagined, was packed into the duffel at her feet.

“You weren’t half bad at the infiltration,” Sophia said casually.

“Fuck you,” I grunted without looking at her.

“What? I’m serious, Hebert!”

I glanced at her, frowning. “I got myself concussed and didn’t stay over the hostages, Sophia,” I said flatly. “I went in without a weapon and almost got myself killed. I fucked up hard.”

Sophia snorted. “You couldn’t have carried that giant spear and me anyway,” she said. “And you just _kept getting up_. Circus wasn’t holding back, but you just took it like a champ. That was impressive; none of the pussyfooting around the others do all the time. Even Aegis, and he’s supposed to be able to take that kind of thing.”

I sighed. “Piggot yelled at me over that,” I said dryly. “Said I should have fallen out of combat once I was injured.”

“Fuck her,” said Sophia succinctly. “How does she think people fight against Endbringers? By retreating and running away? Bull. If you can fight, you keep fighting until you can’t anymore.”

I considered her. She wasn’t looking at me now, instead studying the polished wood of her crossbow’s handle.

“You were an independent before you joined the Wards, right?” I asked.

“You know I was.”

“What was that like?”

Sophia snorted. “Hell of a lot better than this shit,” she said dryly. “None of the bullshit oversight, no one holding me back. I could just buckle down and _get shit done_. I cleaned more scum off the streets in three months as an independent than I have in more than a year as a Ward.”

“When did you trigger?” I asked.

Sophia stiffened.

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you really going to get squeamish about your trigger? To _me_?”

“…I was twelve.”

“Hm.”

“Only went out in costume after I turned thirteen, though.”

“Still pretty young.”

“I guess.”

I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She was back to flipping her crossbow in her hand, watching the light of the sinking sun playing on the wood as it streamed in through the windows.

“Did you get lonely?” I asked. “As an independent?”

She didn’t look at me. “I don’t get lonely, Hebert,” she said evenly. “I work best on my own.”

 _All lies._ I changed the subject. “Where are the others?”

“They all live in the south bay,” Sophia said. “There’s a shuttle for them.”

A door opened behind me. I craned my neck about to see an orderly in a PRT uniform. “Sophia,” he said, “your stepfather is here.”

I turned back to Sophia, saw her tightly clenched jaw. “Right,” she said. “Later, Hebert.”

I watched her walk past me, toward the door. Just before she stepped out, I called after her, “Sophia!”

She turned her head my way.

“We work well together. Looking forward to continuing.”

She was perfectly still for a moment, and then her lips twitched, as though she was trying not to smile. “Same here, Taylor.”

-x-x-x-

“They told me you had a concussion. Are you okay?”

These were the first words out of my dad’s mouth when he arrived to pick me up on the Rig.

“I’m fine, Dad,” I reassured him as he led me into the car. “I healed it. I’m okay.”

“What happened, anyway?” he asked. “I was in a meeting; They left a message and promised to call the moment you were diagnosed. When they did, you were better. Spill.”

“The Undersiders robbed Brockton Bay Central Bank,” I explained. “The Protectorate was out of town, so the Wards got called in. This villain, Circus, in a clown costume—she hit me in the face with a sledgehammer.”

Dad twitched. His grip on the wheel tightened until his knuckles were white. “You were hit in the _face_ with a _sledgehammer_?”

“I was in armor!” I defended. “My head bounced around in my helmet a bit, but it was fine—”

“You know that can be _fatal_ , don’t you, Taylor?” my Dad asked, his voice rising. “This isn’t just something you can shrug off! You might have died!”

I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it again. There was silence for a moment.

“You’re right,” I said quietly. “I screwed up several times today. I made a lot of mistakes. I almost paid for it. I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Don’t be—” he cut himself off. “You promised me you’d be careful. _They_ promised me you’d be careful!”

“Yeah. I screwed up. I’m sorry. It’s not Piggot’s fault; I broke procedure.”

My Dad sighed. “…Don’t be sorry,” he said at length. “Don’t. You’re new to this, and I know you’d never be happy if you didn’t feel like you were helping. Just… please. Be careful. You know I can’t lose you.”

“I know. I’ll do better.”

He glanced over at me with a wan smile. “I know you will.”

I reached out and touched his shoulder. He reached up and took my hand in his.

“Want to go out to eat tonight?” he suggested.

“Sure. Italian?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

-x-x-x-

_Clang. Clang._

The hammer fell on the mithril anvil, each rhythmic beat producing a sound like a ringing bell.

It was Friday, and I was back in PRT Headquarters.

_Clang. Clang._

Carlos, in costume, slipped into my workshop. “Annatar.”

“Aegis.”

 _Clang_.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Sure.” I set down the hammer and turned off the plasma forge—borrowed from Chris—that I was using to heat the metal I was working with. Turning away from my anvil, I faced my team leader. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk about yesterday.”

I nodded. “I figured,” I said. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for screwing up.”

He blinked at me. “Screwing up?” he asked. “You did fine. No one’s perfect. You managed to take Regent out of the fight before we even got started; that’s as much as anyone was expecting from you and Stalker.”

I grimaced. “I also almost got myself killed,” I said. “And screwed up on procedure at least three times.”

Carlos shrugged his wide shoulders. “Protocol’s important,” he allowed, “but so’s our job. Sometimes you have to do things against protocol to get the bad guy or protect an innocent. When that happens, it’s Piggot’s job to yell at us over it, and it’s _my_ job to take the fall for you, if you have to do that. So don’t worry too much about it. Stick to protocol when you can, but remember that it can’t have a plan for every situation.”

I nodded slowly. “I… think I can understand that,” I said. “Say… what do you think of Piggot?”

He sighed. “Off the record? I don’t _like_ her, on a personal level,” he admitted. “But I don’t have to like her to respect her. She’s been in the business for a long time, fighting people worse than I ever want to meet for more than a decade. She knows what she’s doing, and she knows how to use people effectively to do what needs to be done. I can respect that.”

“She’s a skilled leader.”

“A skilled _director_ , at least. I don’t know that they’re the same thing,” Aegis said. “I lead the squad, and that’s one skill. She leads the whole PRT on the scale of the city. I have a feeling it’s a little different. I know she was a PRT squad leader at some point, but I don’t know how she was then.”

I nodded. “That’s fair,” I agreed. “Do you ever see yourself in her role? As a leader on that scale, directing large groups?”

“No, thanks,” he chuckled. “I’m happy where I am. I’m graduating pretty soon, but if I can just lead a local protectorate team by the end of my career I’ll be happy. I don’t see myself ousting Legend.”

“Yeah,” I agreed teasingly. “I can’t see you ousting Legend either.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, now what’s that supposed to mean?”

I smiled at him and took up my hammer again. “Oh, nothing.”

“I’m still in charge of you, you know. I can have you on console duty for a week, no questions asked.”

“Yeah?” I grinned. “Then I guess you won’t be seeing me in action with my new gear anytime soon.”

“New gear?”

 _Clang._ “I couldn’t—” _clang_ “—carry Sophia—” _clang_ “—and bring—” _clang_ “—Aeglos to—” _clang_ “—the fight.” _Clang._

“So?”

“So—” _clang_ “—I’m making—” _clang_ “—something more—” _clang_ “—portable.”

I pulled the hammer away, lifted the weapon into the air, and then quickly sank it into the ice water bath beside my anvil. It hissed and steamed.

I’d asked for an ice water bath before, when I was making my gauntlets. The PRT had done what I should have expected—poured tap water into a vat, and stuck it into a refrigerator for a few hours overnight.

Today, I’d instead been more careful. “Iced _spring_ water,” I’d requested. “Pure as you can find.”

The water was clear, cold, and above all, _pure_.

I withdrew the now-cooled steel blade. It shone like cold fire, reflecting the fluorescent lights in the ceiling and the red heat of the forge in twin colors of flame. I quickly connected it to the hilt and struck it once with my hammer, watching as the components fused, suffused with my powers.

Then I held up the completed--if untempered--sword, and spoke.

“I dub thee Narsil,” I said softly, and pain skidded across my Ring-finger, at the knuckle, like hot fire. “The Red Flame and the White Flame. May thy edge never dull, nor thy blade never break, while the hand of the sons of Númenor guide thee. May you be a hot death to all that is evil, and a warm protector to all that is good.”

The sword, thus named, blazed with light. Something bittersweet rose up in me, like a memory of a dream forgotten. A hint of pain mingled with respect, like a salute to a powerful foe.

I dismissed the hammer and anvil and shut off the forge, then stepped away from it. Slowly I swung the glistening blade through the air, shearing through the space with a faint whistling. Once, twice, thrice. With each swing, pain shot through my finger--fierce and cold on the first swing, duller and throbbing on the second, and by the third it was numb, like an old wound long scarred over.

 _Narsil_. The Blade of Kings.

“What was that?” Aegis asked softly.

“What was what?” I asked.

He stared at me. I stared back.

“…Nothing,” he said, looking away from me and at the sword. “…Narsil, you said?”

“Yes. The Red and White Flame, in Quenya.” I carefully, almost nervously, ran my finger along the flat of the blade. It rang against my gauntlet in a clear, cold note.

“…Does all your tinkertech have names like that?”

“Not all,” I admitted as I fiddled with the automatic forge to produce a torch for tempering. “My armor doesn’t. But most of it. My modules do, for one.”

“What are they called?”

I bit my lip. “‘Fire’ is _Narya_ ,” I said. “For _nár_ , which means, well, fire. ‘Water’ is _Nenya_ , for _nén_ , which means water. ‘Air’ is _Vilya_ , for _víl_ …”

“Which means air?”

“Which isn’t _actually_ a word,” I acknowledged. “It’s the _root_ of several words which tie to air, including, well, _vilya_ itself.”

He considered me. “This is a real language?”

“Depends on what you mean,” I said. The forge was heating again. I brought the blade towards the flame and the flat began to heat again as I began to temper the metal. “It’s a _complete_ language, but as far as I know, I’m the only speaker. Same for Sindarin, Khuzdul, and Valarin.”

“Your powers just gave you four languages to speak for some reason?”

I sighed. “Aegis, Lung turns into a _dragon_. I’m not the weirdest cape out there.”

Even as I said it, though, I was wondering. The oddities of my powers were only part of it. Panacea had said my gemma, the part of my brain that was supposed to _control_ my powers, looked dead. Sure, sometimes they looked different, but mine looked _dead_. What did that mean?

If the part of my brain that was supposed to give me superpowers was dead, how did I have them? If it was giving me superpowers despite _being_ dead, what did that mean? Dead tissue doesn’t do a whole lot, so if the tissue was dead, but the effect was still observed, what was going on behind the scenes?

“Yeah, I suppose,” Carlos admitted, standing up from the seat he’d taken in the corner. “Anyway, any chance you can kit the rest of us with some of your armor? That mithril kept you pretty safe in the last fight, even if it didn’t totally stop the sledgehammer.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, shaking off my thoughts. “I’ll start with Vista, probably, since you and Sam are both brutes, Sophia’s a breaker, and Chris and Dean both have power armor. It’s hard, because her outfit’s too tight to really fit chainmail under, but I don’t want to mess with her image by just giving her platemail like mine.”

“Talk to her,” Carlos suggested. “And the PR guys. They’ll be able to figure out a design that works.”

“Good idea,” I said. “I’ll do that.”

“Oh, and Chris really wants to tinker with you tonight or tomorrow,” Aegis added. Then he grimaced. “And the way I said that makes me think of something _very_ different.”

I chuckled. “Not in favor of fraternization?”

“Not in favor of _getting involved_ ,” he stressed. “Look, you and Chris do _whatever you want_ , and feel free to not tell me about any of it. In fact, consider that an order.”

I laughed aloud. “Sir, yes sir,” I agreed. “First things first, though….” I considered Narsil, the flat beginning to glow with heat again. “I need a scabbard, once this is done. Know where I can find some leather?”

_End Arc 2: Twinkle_


	19. Lustre 3.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @dwood15 for betareading, and to the Cauldron discord for assisting in research.

“For more than a decade, the city of Brockton Bay has been divided. Gangs and other criminals have grown and run rampant, and only the heroic efforts of the Protectorate, PRT, and Wards have held them at bay….”

I shuffled into the green conference room, rubbing Narya as it rested on my gauntleted finger. The conference itself had barely started; some guy in a suit was behind the podium, talking nonsense about the PRT’s longstanding efforts against the gangs and criminal elements of Brockton Bay, and the assistance provided by the Protectorate and Wards program. It was mostly empty filler, and I immediately tuned it out. Now I was just waiting for him to step off and let the actual talk start.

“Relax, Annatar,” said Aegis as he passed by me from behind, putting a hand on my pauldron for a moment while he was near me. “You’ll do fine.”

I sighed. “Thanks, Aegis.”

“You’re clear on what questions you can answer?” asked Derek Mills, the PR guy who’d been coaching me in preparation for this event and the interviews which would surely follow.

“Crystal,” I confirmed dryly. “We’ve only drilled it a million times.”

“It’s easy to lose your head up there,” he cautioned.

“We’ve only drilled _that_ half a million times. Maybe we should go through it a few more?”

Aegis snorted, taking a seat on the couch. “You’ll be _fine_ ,” he repeated. “Come on, sit down. Have some crackers.”

I grumbled inaudibly as I left the center of the room and took a seat on the couch beside him. I palmed one of those fancy round crackers from the coffee table and garnishing it with a slice of cheddar.

“How do you stay so calm?” I asked him as I prepared my snack.

Aegis shrugged. “This isn’t my first public event,” he said, dipping a piece of celery into peanut butter.

“I know.” I rolled my eyes. “And _you_ know that’s no answer.” I bit down on my cracker. It wasn’t half bad.

He crunched down on the celery, chewed, and swallowed. “Just picture them naked,” he suggested.

“Does that work?”

“Not at all. Unless you’re Clockblocker. The rest of us just get embarrassed, on top of being nervous.”

I giggled. “You’re no help.”

“It’s starting,” said Mills.

The windows behind the podium provided a pleasant view of the city hall’s courtyard behind Armsmaster and Piggot as they walked onto the stage and took their position at its center. Piggot took the microphone and lectern, setting a slim portfolio of notes on it as Armsmaster took a position slightly behind and to her right.

“Thank you, Mr. Harvey, for the introduction,” Piggot said, and I could just _barely_ detect the sarcasm under her businesslike tone. “Now, as I’m sure you’re all aware, the parahuman Lung, leader of the criminal organization colloquially called the ‘ABB,’ was apprehended by Armsmaster one week ago. Armsmaster, if you would?”

They switched places, Piggot falling back slightly to allow Armsmaster a spot at the lectern.

“Thank you, Director,” Armsmaster said. “It should come as no surprise that, as leader of the ENE branch of the Protectorate, I’ve been working on a way to neutralize Lung for some time. My research met with success several weeks ago in the form of specific weaponry designed to counteract Lung’s regeneration. I was given the opportunity, last Sunday, to field that weaponry. It was demonstrably effective. However, to take full credit for the operation would be dishonest. I received assistance from an independent parahuman who encountered Lung earlier that night.”

“Was it New Wave?” A woman in the crowd hollered.

“We’ll be taking questions at the end of the conference,” said Armsmaster, “but I can answer that one. No, it was not New Wave. It was a solitary, independent hero, hitherto largely unknown. We have her here this afternoon to talk to you, but before we get to that, Director?”

They switched places again.

“Thank you, Armsmaster,” said Piggot. “The new parahuman, under the cape name ‘Annatar’ first surfaced preventing a robbery by the Undersiders last Saturday. The following night, she called in a report of Lung planning the murder of a group of children. Armsmaster was deployed to assist, and they worked together to bring Lung to justice.”

“If she could fight Lung,” objected a guy with a rather annoyingly shrill voice, “how come we haven’t heard of her?”

“No questions, please.” Piggot gave the guy a scorching glare. “Annatar, being underage, approached the PRT later last week about joining the Wards program. She was then accepted as a trial member. Her primary classifications are tinker and trump.”

“Time to head backstage,” said Aegis, nudging me.

I nodded and stood up. “Notify my next of kin,” I said, and followed Mills out of the green room, leaving my team leader chuckling behind me.

Piggot was still talking, only now I could hear her from the stage directly, rather than over the microphone. “Annatar was also instrumental in the Wards’ operation on Thursday, when the villainous group known as the Undersiders, accompanied by the solo villains Circus, and Trainwreck held up and robbed Brockton Bay Central Bank. Through the Wards’ efforts, three of the six attacking villains were captured during the operation, and are currently in PRT custody.”

Mills and I came to a halt in the wings. I could see Piggot and Armsmaster facing the crowd, lit from behind by the sunlight and from the front by electric lighting, but I couldn’t see the throng of reporters from here.

I knew they were there, though. I knew it all too well. Narya might bolster my image, but it didn’t cure stage fright.

“For the purposes of her introduction as a new hero in Brockton Bay’s roster,” Piggot said, “we’ve asked her to come forward here today, publicly. So, without further ado, please welcome Annatar.

I strode forward, trying to keep my steps even and my stride natural, even as the applause rang out.

I reached Armsmaster and Piggot far too slowly for my comfort, which suggested that I’d done it about right. I shook the director’s hand and took the central position behind the lectern.

The PRT’s image department knew that sometimes, childlike nerves could work really well for a Ward. Not so for me. I was a knight in shining armor, a girl who strode into battle with spear and sword (assuming I could get that approved). Nerves didn’t mesh with that, nor with the fact that I’d apparently been one of two people involved in the operation to bring in Lung. I needed to project confidence and presence. Which, of course, was why I was wearing Narya.

I cleared my throat, adjusted the microphone, promised myself one last time not to stutter, and began.

“Thank you for the warm welcome.” My voice resounded through the auditorium. “I’m sure you all have questions, and I’ll do my best to answer them when the time comes, but first, let me cover the basics to save us all some time.

“You can call me Annatar. I’m a tinker-trump, with a focus on what, for lack of a better term, we’ve been calling ‘powered items.’ Each object I build tends to have some sort of internal power, similar to the effects of a parahuman power. My spear, for example, chills substances it penetrates to temperatures far below freezing.

“As a Ward, I look forward to contributing to the safety and security of Brockton Bay and its people. I’ll be working under Aegis to keep this city safe, and I intend to bring whatever I can to the field to achieve that. I’ll be taking a few questions now.”

Instant clamoring. Every reporter and their mother seemed to want my attention, and was determined to get it, by hook or by crook. The space was filled with the sound of shouting and the waving of raised hands. I randomly pointed at one in the middle of the left-hand side.

“Jonathan Schmidt, CNN,” he introduced. “Can you tell us anything about the other ‘powered items’ you’ve made?”

I nodded. “Well, my armor qualifies,” I answered, gesturing at my platemail. “It’s durable on a level beyond most tinkers’ power armor, although that doesn’t necessarily translate directly to more protection.” _As I found out; thank you, Circus._ “It appears to be nearly indestructible by conventional means, to the point that it’s impervious even to most forms of study. It, like many of the other objects I make, is composed of a metal I transmute from other substances, which I call mithril.”

More hands, more yelling. I picked another. “Candice Williams, Brockton Report; this ‘mithril,’ can you tell us more about its capabilities?”

I shrugged. “It’s nearly impossible to damage, and only I can create it,” I said. “We’re still testing it to determine its chemical and physical properties, if that’s what you’re asking. Once we know more about it, I’ll likely be collaborating with other tinkers to phase in mithril versions of existing gear. I’ve already been approached about the possibility of a collaboration with Dragon to industrially produce the substance.”

I privately had my doubts about whether that would work—call it a hunch—but I wasn’t to say that to the reporters.

More hands went up, and again, there was the shouting. I pointed at one guy whose green suit stood out.

“Albert Barrows, Parapeople Magazine,” he said. “Is it true that you and Shadow Stalker are romantically involved?”

My jaw tightened, my teeth clenched. My throat worked there uselessly for a moment, unable to push my mouth open. The practiced smile felt stapled on my face. It was at least a couple seconds before my jaw loosened enough to allow me to speak, and a couple more before I’d found an answer.

“You know,” I said coolly, “I almost wish I could see _her_ response to that. _No_ , it’s not true. And I’ll be looking at PHO to see where that nonsense came from.”

I pointed at another reporter. “Please make this one a useful question,” I requested dryly.

She smiled slightly. “Of course. Sarah Churchill, Brockton Times. Can you give us any details on how you assisted in the capture of Lung?”

I nodded. “Obviously I can’t say too much,” I said. “But the basics? I found him, planning to attack some kids, and called the PRT immediately. Then I created a distraction and led him in Armsmaster’s direction. Most of what I did was bait him and take a couple of hits to keep him busy.”

Piggot rapped on the side of my backplate with a fingernail. I nodded minutely.

“That’s all I have time for today, I’m afraid,” I said. “I’ll be running an AMA on the PHO forums sometime this week, though, so any questions I missed now will hopefully be addressed then. Until then, however, I’ll hand this back to Director Piggot.”

I stood aside and walked offstage to the sound of applause. Mills led me back into the green room silently, and Aegis was waiting there, a wide smile shifting the shape of his mask.

“Great job, Annatar,” he said.

I crossed the room and collapsed bonelessly into the couch. “I hope I never have to do that again,” I moaned.

“Sorry to say,” Aegis chuckled, “but you’re a hero now. PR’s part of our shtick. Should’ve gone rogue if you didn’t want to deal with it. It’s the only way to maintain the adulation of the adoring masses, after all.”

“Bah,” I grumbled. “they don’t want heroes; they want _celebrities_.”

“Same thing, in their minds,” said Aegis dryly.

I sighed. “Heroing sounded different from the outside,” I whined. “I imagined it as more, well, _heroic_. Going out, stopping the bad guys, saving people, rescuing kittens from trees…”

“Yeah?” Aegis asked sardonically. “You want that kind of life? Step one: Be Scion. There is no step two.”

I laughed. “Yeah, the golden guy has it made, doesn’t he?”

“Anyway,” said Aegis, taking a seat beside me, “You’ve been holding out on me, Annatar. What’s this I hear about you and Shadow Stalker? I’d never have thought it of you, really.”

My face fell like a boat going over Niagara Falls. “Okay,” I said flatly. “You’re an ass.”

Aegis just laughed. “Hey, better you than me,” he said. “In fact, thanks for taking some of the heat off. They’d basically moved on from shipping her with Dennis and transferred it over to me until you were seen carrying her halfway across town on Thursday. I appreciate your sacrifice.”

“Someone _recorded_ that?”

“You need to visit PHO more. _Everyone_ recorded it. No one knew who you were, but everyone saw a hero in armor run through town with Shadow Stalker in her arms. Played hell with _her_ lone badass image, believe me.”

I leaned back into the cushions and massaged my temples. “Well, at least I’m making trouble for her,” I said dryly. “That’s one good thing to come out of this.”

“Hey, you never know,” he said lightly. “Maybe the two of you will come to another _understanding_.”

“Oh, _not you too!_ ”


	20. Lustre 3.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to dwood15 and Technetium43 for betareading.

“Come in,” Piggot called.

I opened the door and slipped into the office. “Director,” I said with a deferential nod.

“Annatar.” She beckoned me towards her desk.

I approached and sat. “How did I do at the conference, Ma’am?”

“Not terribly,” she said frankly. “Your prepared speech wasn’t half bad. I appreciate the effort you went to remain respectful of Aegis’ leadership of the team.”

“I’m not here to poach his position, Ma’am. How were my responses to questions?”

“Too jargonistic and detailed,” Piggot said. “You shouldn’t go into so much detail over your tinkertech; they’re laymen, not cape researchers, tinkers, or power testers. You didn’t give away anything classified, though. We’ll just chalk it up to another tinker quirk.”

I twitched slightly, my pride stinging, but accepted the criticism.

“The only response I’d actually object to is how you handled the question about Shadow Stalker,” she told me. “There’s no _good_ way to respond to those questions, I’ll admit, but in general the image department recommends you answer with a _no comment_.”

“I’m not going to let them believe I’m fu—having _sex_ with _Sophia_!”

Piggot’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t be stupid, Annatar. All you did was show them that you had a strong reaction to the idea, which will only _fuel_ speculation.”

I stared at her incredulously. “So… what? I should just let them assume something like that?”

“You’re a public figure now, Ward,” said Piggot flatly. “Better get used to it. It shouldn’t _matter_ , anyway.”

“I’d rather not have people think I’m _sleeping_ with her!”

“You’re a _cape_. You’re automatically a celebrity, and that means people will make things up about you. Better learn to deal with it.”

I sighed and put my gauntleted hand to my forehead. I rested my head against it for a moment before looking back at her. “Yes, Ma’am,” I said. “Sorry.”

She gave me a look. “I haven’t had to tell you the same thing twice,” she said. “See to it that doesn’t change.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Anything else you needed?”

“I was wondering what the image department’s decided on my sword?”

Piggot’s jaw tightened. “ _I_ don’t like it,” she said flatly. “Your spear had a dull haft, which made it easy to justify as a nonlethal weapon.”

“My sword has a flat.”

“And you can _guarantee_ you’ll only hit people with it?”

I pursed my lips. “I won’t _use_ my sword if I can’t take a risk of injuring someone, and I won’t hit anywhere that would be fatal.”

“You’d better not,” she said darkly. “The image department has agreed to let you take the thing into the field, _once_ you’ve seen a seminar on safe weapon use, and been through a competence test with a professional.”

“The seminar’s online, right?”

“Yes. You should be able to access it from the PRT website. We’ll schedule an aptitude test once you’ve gone through that. Anything else?”

“I was wondering if I could make Vista a knife,” I said quickly. I hadn’t mentioned it to the girl herself yet, but one of my blueprints--a mithril knife, about a foot and a half long--had struck me as perfect for her.

Piggot’s lips thinned. “Vista is a powerful shaker,” she said without inflection. “She can take care of herself.”

“Unless she encounters a trump, or a cape who counters her,” I said. “Director, she doesn’t have any armor _or_ weapons, and her shaker ability is manton-limited. I’m still looking into making plating which fits with her aesthetic—and the others’—but I don’t like her being in combat without any backup weapons.”

“Talk to Mills,” Pigggot deflected. “It’s more an image department affair than mine.”

“And if the image department okays it, you’ll let me make her a knife?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Piggot coolly. “I’ll think about it, Annatar.”

“Director,” I said, exasperated. “Why—”

She interrupted me by rapping hard on the desk with two fingers. “I _said_ ,” she said coldly, “I’ll _think about it_.”

I grimaced and nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

She nodded tersely. “Your collaboration with Kid Win,” she changed the subject. “How is that coming along?”

“We’ve only just started,” I said. “We’re still mostly brainstorming right now. He wants to reinforce the plating of his hoverboard first, and maybe use mithril mirrors in his laser weapons. I was going to get started on the components after I talked to you.”

“You’d best get on that, then,” Piggot ordered. “Clear any equipment you two produce with me before fielding it.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I stood up, turned about, and left. I recognized a dismissal when I heard one.

I knew Piggot meant well. I knew she was just trying to juggle a lot of different responsibilities. I knew she wasn’t trying to make trouble for me.

But I couldn’t help the sour taste in my mouth as I walked out.

* * *

 

“Pass me the needlenose, would you?”

I glanced up from my anvil, bemused. “Needlenose?”

“The long pliers,” Chris said, his gaze intent on the tangle of cabling behind the open panel on his hoverboard. “The ones with the red handles.”

I glanced around, found the tool and passed it over to him. “Why are there so many kinds of pliers, anyway?”

“Leverage and fine manipulation,” Chris said absently as he reached into the workings with the device and began pulling looped wires off of circuit boards. “Needlenoses are good for reach when you need to get deep into a piece of equipment. How’s the plating coming?”

“The bottom’s almost done,” I said, shifting the red-hot mithril on the anvil. “You want bladed edges?”

He bit his lip for a moment, considering, then shook his head. “Nah,” he decided. “Don’t want to accidentally hurt someone. Just making it practically indestructible is plenty.”

“Cool.”

My hammer continued to fall, beating the plate of mithril into the shape Kid Win had requested.

“So how’s tinkering work for you?” Chris asked between clangs of metal on metal.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you just, understand how certain things fit together? That’s how it is for me. I get these ideas, for power generators, or antigravity fields, and then I have to make those work together to produce something I can actually use. When I can focus long enough to get it done.”

“It’s not like that for me,” I admitted. “I just… I feel like I _know_ my stuff. Narsil and Aeglos both popped into my head fully formed, and I just built them according to blueprints in my head.”

It wasn’t _quite_ that simple. I was starting to understand something of the power that was folded into the weapons and Rings I had made. It lingered, hidden in some fogbound corner of my mind, like a scrap of a song half remembered. But it wasn’t enough, not by half. If I had to learn on my own, without any help, it’d be decades before I was ready to create anything on the scale of Narsil without a blueprint already prepared.

Chris glanced over at me. “What do you do when you run out of blueprints?”

I chuckled. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” I said. “Maybe in a few centuries.”

“Oh. That’s… a lot of blueprints.”

“Yeah.”

“And they’re all complete pieces?”

I nodded.

“I’m jealous,” Kid Win said frankly. “I can’t even finish half the projects I start.”

I blinked at him, my hammering slowing momentarily. “Why not?”

He didn’t look at me. “Trouble focusing,” he said shortly. “ADHD.”

I winced. “That must suck.”

“It does.”

I didn’t push him. “What made you decide to join the Wards, Chris?”

He shrugged. “It was kind of an impulse thing for me,” he admitted. “I got my powers and just… didn’t know what to do. They didn’t fix any of my problems; just added more. My parents freaked out, _I_ freaked out, and I was in the Wards before I had time to think about it.”

I considered him. “You ever regret it?”

“No.” He shook his head firmly. “I _like_ the Wards. We make a difference, we get to work with experienced heroes, there’s a whole organization dedicated to helping us do our jobs and get home safe at the end of the day. I want to be a hero, but I also want to, you know, _not die_. The Wards don’t ask me to. Independence might.”

I nodded slowly. “I can understand that,” I lied, and returned to my forging, trying to ignore the little voice that had translated his entire spiel into a single word— _coward_.

“What about you?” Chris asked. “You were independent for a while first, right? Helped Armsmaster bring in Lung.”

I nodded. “I needed a team,” I said. “I can only use one module at a time, so I needed people I could trust to use the others. The Wards and Protectorate were the best way to build a network.”

“So you’re not planning on keeping all your modules to yourself?”

“Not indefinitely,” I said. “I don’t know who I’m going to give them to yet, though.”

“I’ll, uh, pass, if it’s all the same to you,” Chris said, his voice low. “I can’t even use _my_ powers. It’d be a shame to waste yours.”

I grimaced and took one hand off the plate to pat him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll make it work eventually,” I said.

He went back to his tinkering without replying.

* * *

 

My lungs drank deep of the cool night air. My eyes fluttered closed for a moment as I inhaled the sea-breeze, tinged with the pungent scent of the city around me.

“Don’t go drifting off on me, Annatar,” said Vista teasingly from beside me.

I blinked and glanced her way. She was watching me, a hint of a smirk on her exposed lips.

“We’ve still got almost half of our patrol route,” she said. “Little early to be falling asleep, don’t you think?”

I stuck my tongue out at her. “Do _you_ sleep standing up?” I asked. “What are you, a horse?”

“I take offense at that,” said Vista, shifting her hands through the air. Her powers twisted space, crafting a portal beside us, leading several blocks down the street. I could see it like the lens of a telescope, a circle of space through which my perspective was altered.

She led me through the portal and closed it behind us. We took a moment to glance around.

“Quiet tonight,” Vista said.

“Too quiet?”

“God, could you get _any_ more cliché?”

I chuckled. “Oh, Vista,” I said, changing the subject. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this. Do you want a weapon?”

She laughed mirthlessly. “Like the PR mooks are going to let innocent little Vista out with a gun.”

“A knife, maybe?”

“Even that.” She looked at me, her eyes hidden behind her mask. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I’d _like_ to be taken seriously. It’s f—it’s annoying that, even though I’ve been a hero longer than half the _Protectorate_ and even though I’m a _shaker nine_ , people insist on treating me like a naïve little kid who doesn’t understand the world. But it’s not going to happen until the ‘adults’ decide I’ve passed some arbitrary age.” Vista gave a slow exhalation through clenched teeth, and the built tension trained out of her small frame. “I’ve gotten over it.”

I looked into her visor where I thought her eyes were. “I’ve been talking to Piggot,” I said. “If you want, I’ll keep working on her.”

“Best of luck to you,” Vista said dryly. “You’ll need—”

She was interrupted by a sound. It was like thunder, coupled with the cracking of stone and rushing of sudden flame. It was a sound that I’d never heard before in person, despite living in a city like Brockton Bay. There was ectly describe it, so I’ll use the one featured in films, books, and cartoons.

_Boom._

I whirled around, but the buildings encroached on all sides. I could see nothing. “What was that?” I asked.

“You know what it was,” Vista said, her voice cold.

I turned to her. She was twisting her hands through the air as she formed us a passage.

My radio crackled to life before I could say another word. Sophia’s voice came in from the console. “Patrolling Wards, please return to headquarters at once,” she said, perfectly businesslike.

I palmed the handheld and brought it to my face. “Console, what’s going on?” I demanded. “What was that sound?”

“Bomb, Annatar,” Sophia said coolly. “Big one. Get to base, now. We’ve got work to do.”

“After you,” Vista said before I could reply, gesturing me towards the circle of compressed space she’d made.

I clenched my teeth and nodded. “Right,” I agreed, and stepped inside.


	21. Interlude 3a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to dwood15, Technetium43, and Assembler for betareading.

At the sound of the alert siren, Ethan guiltily jerked to attention from where he’d been hunched over his laptop in the lounge of PHQ. He’d been browsing PHO—it was always fun to see how the ongoing speculation about his connection to Madcap was going.

Armsmaster’s voice kicked in over the PA, partially drowning out the siren. “All on-duty Protectorate members,” he said. “This is not a drill. Please assemble in the main garage immediately for deployment. We have confirmation of a terrorist strike in the docks.”

_Terrorist strike?_

Ethan snapped his laptop closed and stuck it under his arm as he jogged out of the break room and down the hall towards his locker. Dauntless, his hands fumbling with the straps of his helmet, was coming out of the changing room just as Ethan reached the door.

“Ken,” he greeted. “What’s going on?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” replied Dauntless tersely. “A _terrorist attack_? What does that even mean, these days?”

“An attack on civilians, basically,” said Velocity, slipping nimbly out of the changing room and sidling between the two larger men. “I’ll see you two in the garage.”

“…And he’s gone,” said Ethan, blinking at the place where the speedster had just been standing.

“And I should be too,” said Dauntless. “Catch up when you can, Ethan.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ethan slipped past Ken and entered the changing room.

Rory was there, pulling on his skintight shirt. His leggings and gladiatorial skirt were already on.

“Hey, kid,” Ethan said casually as he crossed the room and punched in his locker combination.

“Assault.” Rory’s voice was polite, businesslike, and cold and unwelcoming as half-frozen cod.

“You’ve got no idea what’s happening, do you?”

“No.”

“Hmm. Nor do I. In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.” Triumph finished tightening the straps of his pauldrons and shut his locker, golden helmet in hand.

“See you downstairs!” Ethan called after him as the younger hero left the locker room. He got no response. This was no surprise.

Ethan finished clipping together his breastplate and leggings and then slipped on his visor. He took a moment to study his reflection in the locker door’s interior mirror before shutting it and running out of the room.

He made his way down the hall and two flights of stairs before reaching the garage. Armsmaster was already on his bike, talking to Miss Militia in a low voice.

“There you are!” The voice was Assault’s favorite. He grinned and waved at Battery, who crossed her arms and shook her head at him.

“You’re late,” she said.

He shrugged. “My armor takes a while to get on,” he defended. “Maybe if you were to help me out of my civvies…”

“That’s enough.” Armsmaster’s voice was hard, and cut through the conversation like butter. “Here’s the situation. About ten minutes ago, bombs began going off in and around the docks. They’ve continued to detonate, once approximately every thirty seconds. While most of the bombs appear to be generic high explosives, some early reports suggest tinkertech may have been fielded. More intelligence is pending while the thinkers and analysts work on it. In the meantime, we’re deploying. I’ll be on my bike. The rest of you will take a van. Standard team compositions. Clear?”

“Yes, sir!” Assault’s voice joined the echoing call.

“Good. Protectorate, move out.”

The garage opened, and Armsmaster’s bike revved into gear as the rest of the team filed into the van. A PRT trooper was driving, and Miss Militia took shotgun. Assault was tempted to complain that she hadn’t _called_ shotgun, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t go down well.

Piling seven people into a 12-seat van was not a challenge. All the same, Assault fulfilled his role as good husband by giving Battery a meaningful look and patting his lap in invitation once he’d sat down.

She just rolled her eyes and took the seat beside him, as she always did. Soon, the six of them were all buckled in and the van started rolling after the motorcycle. The blue light of the force-field bridge filtered in through the windows as the Protectorate emerged from the Rig. As they crossed the Bay, the sound of the van’s siren began to whine outside the vehicle.

“Miss Militia,” Dauntless asked from his seat just behind the Protectorate’s second-in-command. “Do we have any idea who’s behind this or who’s supplying them with tinkertech?”

“Not yet,” she replied, voice slightly muffled by her scarf. “I privately suspect Bakuda. You remember?”

“The girl who held up Cornell, right?” Battery asked. “We don't know for sure that she joined the ABB, and why would she be doing this _now_ , anyway? It'll just bring in heat.”

“That, I don’t know. This may be vengeance for Lung's capture, or a show of power against the Merchants. The docks are a contested area between the two groups.”

Suddenly, the car’s radio flared to life. “This is Director Piggot.” The familiar voice, muffled slightly by static, emerged from the speakers. “We have video confirmation—the bombing group is the ABB, and the leader appears to be the tinker Bakuda. We have evidence of kidnappings occurring in the AO.”

“Kidnappings?” That was Armsmaster’s voice. “Why would Bakuda or the ABB be kidnapping civilians? Is that the whole objective of the attack?”

“We don’t know,” said Piggot flatly. “Most of the abducted civilians have been of Asiatic descent, as far as we can tell, but we’re working on salvaged footage from street and store cameras. Expect surprises.”

“Always,” said Armsmaster dryly. “You heard the Director, people. Velocity, you’re going to perform a mobile deployment as we approach the AO. I want you to scout out the situation and report back as soon as you have any useful tactical data. The explosions appear to be centered around the intersection of Fifteenth Street and Chesterton Avenue. I want you to head in there—carefully—and identify where the enemy is congregated.”

Velocity palmed his personal radio and spoke into it. “Yes, sir. When do you want us to make the drop?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Velocity started unbuckling his seatbelt. “Assault, could you…?”

Assault nodded and pulled the handle of the door beside him before shoving the door open. The sound of the rushing wind, coupled with the van’s siren, suddenly drew deafening in the little cabin.

Velocity stood up and zipped into position right beside Assault, his hand on his fellow hero’s shoulder to stabilize himself.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve got something!” he hollered over the cacophony, and was gone in the blink of an eye.

Assault shut the door and sighed in relief as the air returned to something like equilibrium in the vehicle.

“Velocity has deployed,” Miss Militia said into her radio. “We’ll proceed to a staging area, and wait there for his report.”

“Good,” said Armsmaster. “I’ll take point; have the van follow me.”

* * *

 

“Bakuda’s holed up in a clinic on Ironmonger’s,” Velocity reported, appearing in the midst of the assembled heroes. Assault and a couple of members of the group jumped at Velocity’s sudden arrival. They’d stopped just outside the apparent AO and unloaded from the vehicles. They were now standing in a loose ring just outside an alleyway.

“The twenty-four hour one?” Battery asked. “What’s she doing there? It’s not exactly defensible.”

“Her guys are combing it for surgical equipment. No idea why.”

“Did you see Oni Lee?” Armsmaster asked sharply.

“No,” Velocity replied. “No sign of him. Doesn’t necessarily mean he’s not here.”

“Agreed,” said Miss Militia. “We should assume he’s intending to assist. Does she have any other parahuman support?”

“Yes—Uber and Leet. They’re both kitted out with tinkertech, and Leet has a gunner drone patrolling the block around the clinic. I think he caught a glimpse of me at some point.”

Armsmaster took one slow breath, in and out. “Okay,” he said. “Miss Militia, take Assault and Battery in from the south, moving up Ironmonger’s. Triumph, Dauntless and I will move to head them off at the intersection with Norfolk, and then trap them in the clinic if you haven’t already got them moving. Velocity, you’re running reconnaissance, but if you can take a safe potshot, do it. Everyone clear?”

“Yep,” said Assault, and was drowned out by the chorus of “Yes, sir!”

“Good. Move!”

Miss Militia beckoned and Assault moved to follow her, his wife falling into step beside him. They moved at a run, not bothering with stealth, and covered the two blocks between themselves and Ironmonger’s Lane in only a few minutes.

They stood behind a corner of the intersection, glancing around it to get a feel for the AO. A fire crackled uncontrolled in the crater of a bomb on the right side of the street, and on the left a one-story building’s lights were lit.

“That’s the clinic?” Assault asked softly.

“Yeah,” Battery confirmed, matching his pitch.

Miss Militia shifted her posture. Prismatic green light flared around her hands, spreading and shifting in the air about her, and then she was holding a gun—a hefty grenade launcher, and about her belt were several round grenades.

“I’ll fire a smoke grenade into the main entrance,” she said. “Battery, let me know when you’re charged. You’re going to bounce off of Assault and enter by the window. Your objective is to get Bakuda to abandon the clinic. We want to drive her north.”

“You’re sending her in alone?” Assault asked.

“No,” said Miss Militia. “You will follow her in, using her momentum to speed you up. I will wait here and make sure they move north once you’ve flushed them out.”

Assault nodded. “Got it,” Battery said.

“Good. Whenever you’re ready.”

A few moments later, Battery nodded. “All right. Can’t hold this long.” Her voice was hard with tension and some pain, and Assault winced slightly under his visor.

“I’m ready, Puppy,” he said gently, stepping out from behind cover.

She gave him a grin through clenched teeth, jumped up, and kicked off him.

He redirected the momentum and began to run after her as she lanced through the air like a bullet, soaring towards the clinic’s window some sixty feet away. A click, and muted _bang_ , and Miss Militia’s smoke grenade launched from behind him, soaring past him, making for the clinic’s doors.

He followed it, rushing straight through the smoke as it burst forth, and emerged straight into the body of a ganger. He ran the guy over without stopping and dove behind the receptionist’s desk for cover.

Gunfire dug into the other side of the wooden block as Battery joined him. “Where’s Bakuda?” he asked her over the racket.

She looked grim. “Not here.”

“What?”

“Not here!”

“I heard you! Why isn’t she—”

_Boom._ The sound had come from the north. Bakuda had moved on.

“Shit. We need to catch up to her.”

Battery nodded. “I’m almost charged again. You throw me in and then dive in yourself. We’ll take these guys out quick.”

“Whatever you say, Puppy.”

She glowered at him affectionately. He watched as her face twisted slightly in pain as her powers took their toll.

“Okay,” she said. “Ready.”

He picked her up and threw her in, then pushed off of the ground to launch himself into the fray.

There were four guys in the clinic, each with an assault rifle. Battery flew into one and went down rolling with him while Assault picked the second up by one arm and beat the third with him. One blow, two, and they were both down.

Then the fourth was aiming his rifle in Assault’s direction, and he prepared to flex his powers against oncoming bullets until Battery leapt into the ganger’s space, kicked his gun out of his hands (showing off her impressive flexibility while she was at it), and punched his lights out.

Assault breathed deeply, looking around the room. All four gangers were, if not out, then at least down, and there was no one left to fight.

“Well,” said Assault. “that was anticlimactic.”

“Look at you, finishing early,” said Battery drolly.

“Didn’t hear you complaining about my endurance last night.”

Battery gave him a look--which he, of course, couldn’t see because of her visor, and thus decided to ignore. “We’re not done yet. Let’s go.”

Their radios crackled to life. “This is Velocity. Bakuda got past me while I was reporting back. She just bombed the Dockworkers’ Association building. She’s headed west. Shall I pursue?”

“Keep her in your sights,” Armsmaster confirmed. “We can’t allow her to keep this up. Triumph, call fire rescue to the Dockworkers’ Association; there were civilians in there. Miss Militia—”

“Armsmaster.” The voice, cutting in suddenly, was Piggot’s. “Drop Bakuda. You’re all needed at the Rig.”

“What?” Armsmaster’s voice was hard and heated. “That woman just bombed at least three congregated civilian groups! I can’t—”

“Lung and Oni Lee just engaged the Wards,” Piggot said shortly. “At PHQ. _Get a move on._ ”

A pause.

“All Protectorate members, make for the Rig, as fast as possible.” Armsmaster’s voice was almost robotic. “Velocity, I want you there yesterday.”

Assault looked bleakly at Battery. “This was a distraction,” he said.

She nodded grimly. “Let’s go.”


	22. Lustre 3.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Technetium43, frustratedFreeboota, Pita, and Assembler for betareading this chapter.

“Annatar, Vista,” Carlos greeted as we entered Wards HQ. “Annatar, have you been authorized to use your sword yet?”

“Not yet. I watched the seminar this afternoon, but there’s still an aptitude test.” I knew I’d _pass_ the test; my powers gave me an intuition for the uses of my weapons, although I wasn’t quite a master-at-arms yet.

“You’re still good with the spear, though?”

“Yeah. What’s going on, Aegis?”

“Some crazy bitch,” Sophia said, coming into the room from the south elevator, “decided it’d be a _great_ idea to start bombing the docks. Protectorate’s already on their way out.”

I grimaced. “Are they a cape?”

“We think so,” Carlos said. “A tinker who specializes in bombs. Calls herself Bakuda. First showed up when she held up Cornell College, a few months back. Disappeared after that. We think Lung recruited her.”

“Then why’s she acting up _now_?” Missy asked.

Sophia rolled her eyes. “I’d _assume_ because Lung got taken in.”

“But why would that make her—”

“Where’s Oni Lee?” I asked.

All three of them looked at me.

“Is he with her?” I asked.

“Not as far as we know,” Carlos said, glancing at Sophia. “You hear anything on console?”

“No,” she replied, studying me. “What are you thinking, Annatar?”

“There’s a couple of possibilities,” I said. “Either she’s gone loose cannon and just decided to go on a bombing spree for the hell of it, or this is part of a plan, right? Does she have ABB guys with her?”

“Yes,” Sophia said slowly. “Yes, she does. Uber and Leet are apparently backing her up, too.”

“No way she hired them without ABB resources,” Carlos said.

“So _where’s Oni Lee_?” I looked at my team leader. “Can you think of anything Oni Lee would want to do right now besides break out Lung?”

“No,” he said grimly. “No, I can’t. Missy, go explain the situation to Chris and get him to explain to Piggot. We need clearance to head out. Annatar, Stalker, suit up. I’ll go tell the others.”

“Where are the others?” I asked.

“The dorms,” Carlos said. “The Wards were supposed to stay at base until the bomb threat passes.”

I nodded. “Permission to bring Narsil?”

He studied me. “Don’t use it unless you’ve got no other choice, got it?”

“Promise.”

“Then sure. Keep it sheathed.”

I nodded, and he left.

Sophia was already on the couch, rummaging in her duffel for her mask. Her hood was down, but her costume was otherwise on. Her hair, I noticed, was done up in a bun, rather than her usual ponytail. _She must keep it that way under the hood to keep it from getting in the way._ It made her head look smaller than I expected--almost childlike.

“Saw your press conference,” she said dryly as she pulled out her mask.

I snorted. “Can you believe those people?”

“Yes,” she said flatly. “They _never stop_. When I got brought into the Wards, you know what they thought?”

“What?”

“They thought I’d joined up because I was fucking _Aegis_.”

I passed a hand over my eyes. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Get used to it.”

“That’s what Piggot said, too.”

Sophia gave an amused grunt. “Hey, what do you know, Piggy gave good advice for once. Besides, it could be worse.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Hm?”

She shrugged, glancing over at me. “Better you than one of the others. Least you’ve got balls.”

She tried to look away, but suddenly I was holding her gaze like a vice, Narya flaring hot on my finger. I saw her tense slightly at whatever she saw in my face.

“Not,” I said, coldly and clearly, “from my perspective.” I turned away. “I’m going to grab Narsil. See you later, Stalker.”

I left the room and ran straight into Dennis, who was fiddling with the straps of his plating. “Well, hello,” he said, stepping back out of my personal space. “I hope I didn’t pull you away from your personal time with—”

“Can it.” Narya flared on my finger as I glared at him.

“Yes’m.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m going to grab Narsil,” I said. “Be right back.”

* * *

 

“We’ve got permission to go to the Rig,” Aegis said as we assembled before him, the last parts of our costumes being affixed as we listened. “We’re not to engage if Lung’s already escaped. The most important thing is that none of us get hurt if we can avoid it. Oni Lee’s dangerous, and he’s not afraid to kill.”

“I’m transport?” Vista asked.

“You are,” Aegis confirmed. “I want us to head in over the force bridge, but the bridge is down. Vista, will you be able to…?”

“I can shorten the distance,” Vista said firmly. “Easy.”

“Good. Let’s get moving, people.”

We trooped after him as he led us into the elevator and out the back door of PRT headquarters.

Traveling across the city with Vista was not much like patrolling with her. For one thing, it took much less time. She gave us a short step up to a roof first, and then launched us halfway across the city in a single step.

We came a halt across the open water from the Rig. Directly before us, the lights of PHQ shone gold and glimmered over the water. The force field bridge was inactive--which didn’t really present a problem to us, given we had Vista.

_Boom._ Bombs had been sounding from the north throughout our travel, but now I could see the flash as I looked up the coast. The explosion lit up the smoky clouds above the city.

“Any word from inside?” I asked.

“Nothing yet,” Aegis said. “Force field's down for us, though. We’ve still got access to surveillance, so—”

Our radios chimed as one. “ _Oni Lee has broken into Lung’s cell_ ,” came the voice of the PRT operative we’d left on the console. “ _The containment foam sprayers have been disabled. Lung is being disconnected from tranquilizer drips now._ ”

“Fuck,” said Sophia.

“Vista, get us in there,” Aegis ordered.

Vista shifted her hands through the air and suddenly the space between us and the Rig was only a small gap, easily crossed by a single step.

Aegis led us across that gap at a jog. The Rig’s garage doors opened for us as we approached and we entered the dark vehicle hangar.

Armsmaster’s bike and quite a few of the PRT vans that were usually here were missing, having been taken out for the Protectorate’s deployment against Bakuda. A group of PRT troopers in full gear were waiting for us by the door. A brown-haired, middle-aged man I recognized as Deputy Director Renick, his face visible behind a transparent visor, was their leader.

“Aegis,” he said shortly. “We’ve lost control of Lung’s cell block.”

“How many casualties?”

“All hands. Mostly dead. We have to get into Lung’s cell and restart the tranquilizer drip before his healing factor wakes him up.”

“Any idea how long we’ve got?”

“Minutes. Maybe twenty, probably more like five or ten.”

Aegis nodded. “Annatar, Shadow Stalker, you two go on ahead,” he ordered quickly. “Don’t take any risks; just scout and report back.”

“I’m in Fire,” I said quickly. “Not Water.”

“Then _switch_ ,” he said tersely. “Quickly.”

I glanced around at all the prying eyes and finally settled my gaze on Sophia.

“I’ll swap on the way,” I said. “Let’s go.”

I led Sophia away from the group and into the Rig. We moved past a couple of barricades in the lobby. The troopers manning them gave us nods and even salutes as we passed.

When we started down the stairwell, I reached behind myself and unclipped the Jewelry Box from the clasp I’d made for it across the small of my back. I passed Aeglos to Sophia. “Hold this for a moment.”

She took it, watching me closely as I took the Box into my hands. “That has your modules?” she asked.

I nodded, then met her eyes. “Tell no one what you see here,” I ordered.

“I swear I won’t.” She agreed readily.

“I don’t trust your oath. Let me make this clear. If you tell anyone how my powers work, I will _know_. I will find you, and I will make you wish you’d never heard the name of Annatar. I will wreak such vengeance on you that what you did to me in January will look tame by comparison. Am I understood?”

Sophia’s eyes didn’t flicker away from me, but I thought I saw a faint shudder run through her frame. “Clear as crystal,” she said lowly.

I looked down at the Jewelry Box. “ _Edro a adlenc!_ ”

The box opened, and the dark stairwell was filled with white and blue light.

I shifted my grip so that the box sat under my right arm and then used that hand to pull Narya off of my left finger. I dropped the golden band into the lockbox and drew out Nenya, slipping it on where Narya had lately resided.

Then I closed the box, shutting away the light of Fire and Air, and slung it back over my back. “Those,” I told Sophia coldly, “were the Three Rings of Power.”

“Your modules are rings?” Her eyes were resting on the Jewelry Box. I took my spear from her sharply.

“Yes,” I said. “And if I have my way, you’ll never see them again. Let’s go.”

I reached out and covered the both of us with Nenya’s concealment as we proceeded.

As we entered the underground cell block, I was faced with my first corpse of the night. The man at the front desk, still seated behind the grating facing into the lobby, was slumped backward in his chair, brown eyes glazed and staring. Blood still slowly leaked from the jagged gash across his throat.

As we entered the enclosed depths through the door and passed his seat, I reached out and carefully closed his eyes before we went on.

“Why?” Sophia asked me as we continued.

“Why what?”

“Why bother? He’s dead. Not like it does anything for him.”

“It does something for me.”

He was not the last corpse I saw in that cell block. PRT troopers, armored and armed, lay slumped periodically against the walls of the hallway. I glanced at each face, knowing I wouldn’t remember them in the morning, knowing I couldn’t take the time.

A middle-aged woman with Asian features lay splayed against a cell door. A young man, barely into his twenties, was wedged half into an empty cell, his blood spread like paint across the small room’s floor. An older man with blond hair lay spread-eagled in the center of the hallway, his blood pooling from wall to wall.

I closed each pair of eyes before moving on.

“Do you know how many people were stationed here?” I asked Sophia lowly as we proceeded.

She gave a dry sigh through clenched teeth and glanced at me through narrowed eyes. “No. Does it really matter?”

“No.” I shook my head.

She blinked and frowned at me. “No?”

“No,” I confirmed as I lowered to close an older black woman’s eyes, all without slowing my pace. “I was just curious.”

My ears pricked. A sound—leather on metal. Footsteps. They were punctuated by a low murmur, a man’s voice, speaking just too quietly for me to easily hear.

I raised my hand in a signal to stop. “Oni Lee,” I breathed. “Careful.”

We crept further down the hallway. The footsteps grew more distinct as we approached and as I sharpened Nenya’s power. The voice slowly became clear.

“Bakuda is distracting the Protectorate.” The voice was smooth and blank, like polished silver; lacking both in imperfection and inflection. It emerged from behind a cell door, several yards down the hall from where Sophia and I crouched.

“Distracting?” Lung’s voice. It was harsh with pain and fatigue—probably a side-effect of having been woken from the tranquilizer-induced coma. “How so?”

I glanced at Sophia. “Lung’s awake,” I said.

“Fuck,” she said. “We need to get out of here. Get back to the others. No way we can take Lung alone.”

“He’s weak right now,” I said. “He won’t be for long.”

“He’s got Oni Lee with him, right? We’ve got no chance. We need to get out of here before they find us.”

I sighed. I remembered Circus, and how she’d taken me out of the fight with nothing more than a sledgehammer. I remembered the trail of corpses I’d found on the way here—people killed by the _less_ dangerous of the two parahumans in the room ahead of me.

_I’m not ready_.

I brought my radio to my lips and pushed the button to broadcast.

“This is Annatar,” I whispered. “Lung has been revived. Shadow Stalker and I will attempt to withdraw.”

“Have you been detected?” Aegis responded at a whisper.

“No. We’ll pull back now and keep it that way.”

“Good. Be careful.”

We’d only managed to withdraw as far as the end of the corridor, however, when I heard the sound of a door opening behind us. I turned without thinking.

My eyes met Lung’s. His mask was off, and in his hand at his side, half raised. He was actually quite handsome. A surprisingly small number of scars marred his face--likely thanks to his healing factor. A tattoo of red and green flame enshrouding a snakelike dragon crept up from his bare chest and neck around the back of his ears, before ending somewhere in his thick black hair.

“You,” he growled.

I dove around the corner, Sophia at my heels, and behind us, we heard the _whooshing_ sound of rushing flame.

“I think Lung’s up,” I said weakly.

“No shit, Sherlock. Run!”


	23. Lustre 3.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to dwood15, Technetium43, frustratedFreeboota and Assembler for betareading.

“Aegis, this is Annatar!” I practically screamed into my radio. “Lung is attacking; repeat, Lung is attac—”

I had to cut myself off to deflect a blast of fire with one of Nenya’s barriers. Behind me, Sophia took advantage of the cover to take a potshot at the slowly growing cape. The tranquilizer round became solid halfway hilted into his skin, which was already shifting into metal scales, but he just roared and snapped it off with an almost lazy bat of his hand.

I scrambled backwards, away from Lung, my eyes trained on his red ones. He hadn’t even bothered with his mask, and his face, already beginning to elongate, was twisted into a rictus of fury. “You will pay for what you did to me,” he growled, his voice still mostly understandable this early in his transformation. “You should not have struck at your betters, little girl.”

I couldn’t help it—I scowled at him. “My _better_?” I asked sharply. “You’re just a child destroying other children’s sandcastles because you can’t build your—”

I dove behind a corner as more fire came my way and began to run again. It wasn’t long before I had to turn to block another fireball.

“Go!” I shouted to Sophia. “I’ll hold him off!”

She didn’t hesitate, shifting into shadow form and zipping away behind me. I held Nenya at the ready on one hand and Aeglos in the other as Lung fully rounded the corner.

“You don’t want to kill me,” I said breathlessly. “Killing a Ward? That’s kill-order material. You don’t want that kind of heat.”

He roared. If there were words in the sound, they were too distorted by both his shape and his rage to be understood. Fire burst forth from him—not breathed from his maw, like a true dragon, but blasting from his whole body in an explosion.

I raised Aeglos and stabbed into the fire with a cry. Flame met ice, and steam rushed forth, filling the hallway.

I turned and sprinted away, taking advantage of the impromptu smoke grenade to run. As I turned the next corner, however, I was faced with the grinning, blood-red mask of Oni Lee.

The pin of the grenade in his right hand dropped out of his left.

I dropped, curled inward—dropping Aeglos to tighten myself further—and surrounded myself with the strongest barrier I could manage.

It wouldn’t be the last time I was at the epicenter of an explosion, but it was the first. The light, the heat, the _sound_ , they pounded at my senses like war drums, setting me reeling internally. My collected state was shattered wide, as a gate before a battering ram.

I stood up, blinking to try to clear the spots in my eyes, picked up Aeglos, and continued to run. I noticed I was bouncing off the walls a bit in my unsteady gait. That wasn’t good. It meant I was being inefficient.

Fire struck me in the back in a rush of heat. My mithril armor held—I had a feeling I’d know if my back had suddenly become barbecue—but I smelled _something_ burning.

I was sent rolling down the hallway and came to a rest on my back, staring back down the hall at Lung.

“I’s o’er li’l ‘irl,” he growled through twisted features. “Now ‘oo _‘ay_.”

I called on Nenya, and felt the rush of renewed energy. I wore the Ring of Adamant—I was _unbowed_. Unyielding.

I picked myself up. I took Aeglos in both hands and pointed the shimmering blue blade at the center of his brow. Frost crept down the handle from the blade in spite of the growing heat of Lung’s presence. My knees bent and I shifted my stance into a ready posture.

“Don’t you know the story of Saint George?” I asked him. “It isn’t over until the dragon’s dead.”

He bared his teeth. Fire burst forth.

I caught it in a combination of Nenya’s barrier and Aeglos’ point. The blade flared blue, and again steam burst forth.

_Where is Oni Lee?_ I asked Nenya then, under the cover of the cloud. I had no desire to be overtaken with another grenade.

My senses expanded to include the sound of his breathing—in two places, no less. One, in the hallway behind Lung, and the other—

I whirled, Aeglos spinning about in a narrow arc of blue light, and stabbed the enemy cape through the center of the chest.

He staggered back, the unprimed grenade falling from his limp fingers, and fell apart into a mess of white ash.

I ran again, maintaining an awareness of his and Lung’s positions at all times. Oni Lee tried once more to get ahead of me. I struck him hard across the head with Aeglos’ haft immediately and then stabbed him through the throat as I kept running past. In the moment between the two blows, another of him appeared behind me, and as the spear sank into his flesh, he again collapsed into dust.

He didn’t try to catch up to me again, instead staying behind Lung as the large cape rumbled through the halls behind me, taking potshots at me with his fire, which I deflected with Nenya and Aeglos.

I knew that, were adrenaline not coursing through my veins like water, I would be dead already. I knew that the amount of mental and physical strain I was putting myself through, exerting Nenya’s power like this, would leave me practically crippled for at least the next day. The Three were not meant to be used in this kind of close-quarters combat, let alone be relied upon in this way.

Tough. I had no choice. And I couldn’t deny that some part of me—some primal spark of combative flame—was _enjoying_ this. Admittedly, I’d probably like it better if I could face him directly, but I wasn’t prepared for that. Besides, I’d prefer Narya or Vilya for the purpose.

We reached the lobby of the cell block and I turned, finally reveling in the more open space rather than a claustrophobic corridor. I was looking through the glass divider between the lobby and the security area when Lung pushed the door open and entered the other side.

We faced each other for a moment, his teeth bared, my face set. He’d grown—he barely fit into the hallways now, and was hunched over until he was barely standing on two legs.

“Oo’v go’n s’rong’r,” he acknowledged roughly.

“You haven’t,” I said.

He growled and leapt, charging through the glass at me. Nenya gave me the speed to sidestep out of the way and bring Aeglos about. The blue point slashed into his side, sinking through the metallic scales into the soft flesh. He roared in pain and recoiled, and I struck again, stabbing into his leg.

He took a knee, but swiped at me as he did so. Extended as I was in a thrust, I couldn’t dodge. I was thrown backward, and hit the wall hard with a sharp _crack_ , leaving an imprint in the concrete.

Yet I was mostly unhurt. The impact was not onto my separated helmet, and so I had no concussion. My body would bruise where it had impacted my platemail, but my skin was untorn.

I pulled myself out of the wall and swung Aeglos about as Oni Lee appeared beside me. He recoiled just in time, the blade missing his throat by an inch. I stabbed again and he dissolved into ash, appearing again behind me. I jabbed at him with the haft of Aeglos, striking him in the gut, and then dove out of the way of a blast of fire from the rising Lung.

I was in a corner now. Lung was in the center of the room—on all fours, now, his form barely recognizable as human, and towering to the ceiling. Oni Lee was recovering to my left, against the wall. He was doubled over, but his mask was facing me, and his gaze was perfectly steady.

I was strong, but I needed to win every clash. They only needed to win one.

I took a stance and lowered Aeglos to point at Lung. “Ready when you are,” I said.

Oni Lee appeared beside me, already palming a grenade. I slashed him across the throat and pushed him between me and Lung, where he served as a human shield against the rush of flame, at least until he dissolved into ash. By that point, I was already rolling out of the corner, making for the doorway.

I smashed through the push door and took a step down the long hallway leading to the stairs… and was suddenly stumbling on the first step.

“Annatar,” said Vista, her voice tight with concentration. “How’re you doing?”

“Better, now you’re here.”

“Love you too. Let’s go.” I saw that the corridor had lengthened until I could barely see the small forms of Lung and Oni Lee on the other side.

But I _heard_ Oni Lee, as he appeared directly behind the two of us. Then, suddenly, he stopped. I turned.

The man in the blood-red mask stood stock-still, frozen, and Clockblocker’s hand rested on his shoulder, reaching down from higher up on the stairwell. “We haven’t got long,” he said sharply. “Vista, let’s go.”

Vista nodded. “Annatar, you go up first. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said, as I began to run up the spiraling stairs, taking them two at a time. “Bit bruised, is all.”

“Good,” called Aegis from above. “Vista, how close is Lung?”

“If I held him here, he’d be a few minutes, but he’ll bust through the ceiling and come up somewhere else in the building. Let’s go before he does.”

We ran up the stairs; Vista took the rear, I was next, then before me were Clockblocker and Aegis, with whom Vista and I quickly caught up. As we ran, I heard a rumbling, crashing sound somewhere in the building behind us.

“That’s Lung breaking out,” panted Vista. “We need to hurry. Is the Protectorate coming?”

“Piggot says yes,” said Aegis shortly.

“Good,” I panted. “We might be able to contain him again.”

No one answered me. Moments later, we reached the top of the stairway. Sophia was there, fists clenched, staring at the doorway as we opened it.

“Annatar,” she said, and there was something unidentifiable in her voice. “You’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Thanks for getting the others.”

“We need to fall back,” Aegis barked. “Get behind the PRT’s barricade. Annatar, you take the lead. Clockblocker and I will take the rear.”

We jogged through the next few corridors unmolested save for the occasional crash of Lung breaking through a wall behind us. Soon, we reached the hangar. The garage doors were open, and the PRT troop that had been here when we arrived was gone.

“Vista, give us a path,” Aegis ordered.

As we reached the edge of the roadway which lead into the force field bridge, The bay shrank before us until the Rig and the shore were practically touching, and one by one, we stepped across, and off of the manufactured island.

As we reached the shore, Vista released the tightened space and I gave a sigh of relief. “What now?” I asked Aegis.

“Now you wait here.” I turned. It was Armsmaster, striding forward. “Vista,” he said. “A path, please.” Behind him, the rest of the Protectorate was assembled.

“We can help,” I said. “I—”

“No, Annatar,” he said shortly. “Lung is dangerous, and you’re not soldiers. Leave this to us. Vista?”

Vista nodded and the distance shortened again. One by one, the seven heroes crossed. Armsmaster turned to face us from the other side.

“Aegis,” he ordered. “Keep in radio contact. We’ll keep you appraised of the situation.”

“Yes, sir. Clockblocker froze Oni Lee on the way out; he _may_ still be out of action when you arrive.”

“We’ll keep it in mind. Under no circumstances are you to engage Bakuda or Lung, should either appear.”

“Yes, sir.”

Armsmaster hesitated for a moment. “And… Annatar,” he said. “You should speak to the director.”

I frowned at him. “Did I do something wrong?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I—we don’t have time. I’m sorry.”

There was something in how he said those last two words that put me on edge, but then he turned away with a nod to Vista, and the space between us was widening again.

I glanced at Aegis. “Do you know what that was about?” I asked.

“No idea,” he said. “Call Piggot. I’ll keep watch.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

I walked away from the shore. Sophia followed me wordlessly. I made my way to an open piece of street some twenty feet apart from anyone else and then palmed my radio from where it sat clipped to my sword belt.

I altered the frequency to be direct to the console, and then hit _broadcast_. “This is Annatar to Director Piggot,” I said. “Armsmaster said to contact you.”

A moment passed. Then Piggot’s voice: _“I’m sorry I can’t make this a priority,”_ she said. _“Go to frequency Oscar-November-Echo. I’ll talk to you there between coordinating.”_

I quickly altered the frequency. “Director,” I said, and I knew my voice was growing less steady. “What’s going on?”

_“You’re aware that Bakuda was making a bombing spree on the north side of town?”_

“Yes. It was a distraction to release Lung, right?”

_“We think so. Annatar—hold on a moment.”_

I waited. While I did, I glanced at Sophia. “Why are you here?” I asked her blankly.

She twitched. “I—” she stopped. “Wanted to thank you,” she said. “Don’t know if I—”

_“Annatar.”_ Piggot’s voice. _“I’m sorry I don’t have more time. During the bombing spree, Bakuda struck the Dockworker’s Association building. Your father was at work.”_


	24. Lustre 3.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to dwood15, Technetium43, frustratedFreeboota, and Assembler for betareading.

I stared at the radio in my hand. “What?” I asked.

_“I’m sorry, Annatar. He’s been recovered by paramedics and is en route to Brockton General Hospital as we speak.”_

The Ring of Adamant hardened my heart and steeled my spine. I clenched my teeth and asked, “So he’s not dead?”

_“No. I’m not going to lie, his condition is critical, but Panacea is currently at the hospital. She doesn’t accept requests, but she generally focuses on patients in critical condition. He’ll most likely be fine.”_

I closed my eyes. A shudder ran through my body for a moment, goosebumps rising over my skin. I felt as though I was standing in a cold wind. “I’m going to go help,” I said thickly. “I can get there in ten minutes and—”

“You’re falling over on your feet,” Sophia interrupted roughly.

I whirled on her. “MY FATHER MIGHT BE DYING!” I screamed at her.

She didn’t flinch. “You’re no help to him like this,” she said evenly. “Let the medics do their jobs. You’ve done yours.”

 _“Shadow Stalker is quite right,”_ said Piggot firmly. _“Your father is already en route to the hospital. Panacea--a much more accomplished healer than you, I’m sure you’ll agree--is already there, and will almost certainly step in if his condition is beyond the assistance of non-parahuman professionals. Your father should--_ will _be fine.”_

“I can’t just do nothing!” But even as I said it, I knew I didn’t have the energy in me to do a truly massive feat of healing with Vilya right now. At best, I’d be able to stabilize Dad--and after running all the way across the city with Nenya, I doubted I’d be able to do even that.

 _“You just held Lung and Oni Lee long enough for the Protectorate to arrive—singlehandedly, according to Aegis’ report,”_ said Piggot coolly. _“That’s far from nothing.”_

“That doesn’t help my dad!”

There was a pause.

 _“Annatar, I need to be coordinating,”_ Piggot told me. _“I’m sorry I can’t be more help. You deserved to be aware, at least. Do_ not _rush to the Docks, or to the hospital alone—mover or not, tonight’s not a night to be out on the streets alone. You’d be doing your father no favors by getting killed in one of the bombs.”_

I didn’t answer; just stared out onto the water. My eyes were perfectly dry.

_“Annatar?”_

“I heard you. I won’t rush off alone.”

Piggot sighed into the microphone. _“We’ll talk later. I’m sorry.”_

The frequency blanked, and I tuned back to the Wards’ band numbly before clipping the radio back onto my belt and staring out into the bay again.

I blinked. Still no tears.

After a moment, Clockblocker broke from the group of Wards and approached.

“I heard you yelling at Piggot,” he said lowly. “What happened?”

“The ABB bombed my dad’s work,” I replied. My voice was smooth, neither breaking nor cracking.

“Shit,” he whispered. “Is he…?”

“He’s alive. Critical condition. He’s on his way to the hospital.”

“Well… that’s good, right? There’s still a chance—”

“We were just starting to get along again,” I said—hoarsely, now, but still no tears came. “We’d barely been talking for two years—first my mom died, and then fucking _Winslow_ happened, and he was never… he couldn’t deal with it. He shut down, and I didn’t want to bother him. And it always made me so angry, that I had to tiptoe around my own dad like that.”

Dennis was silent. So was Sophia, still standing near, watching me mutely.

“I never told him about you, you know?” I said to her, with only a vague gesture in her direction, my gaze still fixed out to sea, my eyes still horribly, traitorously dry. “He only found out about you and Emma after the locker. He knew I was being bullied, but he was always saying shit like ‘at least you have Emma,’ or ‘can’t Emma help?’ And I mean, how was he supposed to know if I didn’t tell him? But what would he do if I did? The teachers didn’t give a fuck; the principal didn’t give a fuck; Mr. Barnes is a lawyer and we couldn’t afford to fight him in court, so the _law_ didn’t give a fuck; and I was just a scrawny little girl up against the track star, so why should _you_ give a fuck? Nothing he could do would have changed any of that—he’d have just beaten himself bloody pounding against the walls.” I smiled slightly. “Cutting up his hands against the loose nails, and holding his breath to try to get away from the smell.”

I thought I heard an intake of breath from Sophia. Maybe it was just my imagination. Maybe I just wanted to pretend that _someone_ was showing the proper amount of emotion here. I still couldn’t cry.

“I told him about my powers the day before I came in to join the Wards. It was… he was _beaten_. Had been for years. It took me so long to put myself, my own problems, aside and really see that. I’d been angry with him for it—but once I had powers, I managed it. But I just—I _pitied_ him. When was the last time I really talked to him? When was the last time he and I sat down and spoke—about our lives, about our thoughts, about our feelings? We were starting to, this past two weeks. We were almost there. It was almost _right_ again. We were almost a _family_ again.” I laughed darkly. “All it took was me getting powers—was me having such a bad day, being so totally alone, that the only thing I could do was stop being _human_. And it still wasn’t enough. I—we needed more _time_. A couple more weeks—more _days_ , even. Another two or three family dinners, just he and I. Maybe then we could have understood one another again.”

_Maybe then, I’d be able to cry._

I shook my head to clear it. It wasn’t as though Dad was dead— _yet_ —after all. With Panacea at the hospital, and him already on his way, things looked pretty good for his prospects.

That, somehow, didn’t help as much as it should have.

“I know what it’s like,” Dennis said gently, “to wish you had more time.”

I looked at him thoughtfully. “Your trigger?” I asked.

He nodded. “My dad—he has leukemia,” he said softly. “I didn’t—I wanted more time with him.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Now I can keep him, frozen in time, for as long as I want. A perfectly useless solution.”

“My dad and I started getting along again as soon as I no longer needed his support,” I told him wryly. “Powers are just ironic like that, aren’t they?”

I was starting to hurt. The adrenaline, shock, and emotion of the past hour was starting to fade, and I was left just feeling drained. My ribs were aching, the bruising beginning to rear its ugly head, and I could practically feel my legs and arms stiffening with exertion.

“Clockblocker,” Sophia said, getting our attention. “Any idea when we can go back to base?”

Dennis shook his head. “Dunno,” he said. “I’ll go ask Aegis. Be right back.”

I watched him go as he retreated back to the group.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” said Sophia quietly.

I turned, blinked at her. “What?”

She glanced away. There was a pause for a moment.

“Thank you,” I said.

She didn’t reply for a moment. “I wanted to thank you for taking on Lung and Oni Lee like that,” she said. “I’m not built to go up against guys like Lung. My powers don’t work for that.”

“I know.”

“It wasn’t that I wanted to run away; I just knew I could help more by getting the others than by facing them down with just the two of us.”

“I know.”

“I’m _not_ a coward.”

I didn’t answer, just looked back out to sea.

“I’m _not_!”

“Brave people don’t need to beat down the weak.”

“Fuck you, He—Annatar. I’m a—”

“Survivor?” I interrupted dryly. “You mentioned.”

“Fight or flight,” Sophia said coolly. “It pays to know what you can take on, and what you can’t. Sometimes things are just too strong for you alone.”

“Yes.”

“Lung was too strong.”

“I agree.”

“So I’m not a coward. I was getting help.”

I didn’t bother to tell her that those two weren’t mutually exclusive. She knew. She wouldn’t have bothered with this conversation if she didn’t.

“You’re a survivor?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“‘Cowards die a thousand times before their death. The valiant never taste of death but once.’ _Julius Caesar_.” I remembered my mother, sitting in the rocking chair she’d once had in my bedroom, reading to me aloud each night before bed. I remembered my father, joining us for the ceremony, sitting at the foot of my bed, smiling as he watched her intent upon her book, and me intent upon her, as she read from _Treasure Island_ , or _The Chronicles of Narnia_ , or _Doctor Dolittle_. And, of course—once I was old enough to appreciate it—we began to read Shakespeare as a group, each of us taking some characters’ roles.

Dad had always been good at giving the characters funny voices.

“It’s not like that,” Sophia said through gritted teeth.

I didn’t bother to answer. Aegis was coming over.

“Protectorate’s coming out,” he said. “Couldn’t find Lung or Oni Lee in the Rig. They think Bakuda used some of Leet’s tinkertech to get them out. We’ll be headed to PRT headquarters soo—”

_Boom._

An explosion. I turned. Smoke was rising from somewhere in the north part of downtown.

“Fuck.” Aegis cursed. “Bakuda? Is she _still_ going? Why? She’s got Lung out, hasn’t she?”

“Power,” I said softly. “She’s had a taste of rule through fear, and wants more. She won’t stop now until she’s beaten or until the ABB rule the city.”

“Fuck,” said Aegis again. I nodded.

“Bitch,” Sophia said coldly. “Hasn’t she caused enough trouble for one night?”

“She’s caused enough trouble for one lifetime,” I said. “Hers.”

Aegis glanced at me. “What?”

I wasn’t listening. _I can’t hunt her down now,_ I told myself. _I’m tired, I’m weak, I’m_ alone _, I’m without support or assistance. She’s entrenched, surrounded by allies, and in control of the situation. I can’t go after her now. I can’t avenge Dad now._

_Tomorrow, I won’t be tired or weak, but I’ll still be alone, and still without help. It won’t be enough._

_Why did I join the Wards, then, if I’m alone, even when surrounded by allies? I wanted allies—no._

_No. I wanted Ring-Bearers. And I need them now. For you, Dad._

“We need to stop her,” I said.

“That’s not our job,” said Aegis gently. “We’re not the Protectorate--we’re supposed to stay _safe_.”

“Fuck that,” Sophia bit out. “I don’t plan to sit on my ass while that bitch blows up half of _our city_.”

“There’s only one kind of safety that matters—power.” My voice was hard. “And _power_ … power I can do. Power, I have. Power, I can _share_.”

“What are you talking about, Annatar?” Aegis asked. His voice reminded me of a moth, drawn to a flame—apprehensive, but enraptured already. And I hadn’t even begun my pitch.

“How would you like one of my modules, Aegis?” I asked softly. I met his eyes and looked deep, drawing out what lay behind them, and speaking the words he wanted to hear. “A bit of extra oomph to everything you do. An enduring strength of character, to match the endurance to weather blows. An unrelenting strength that others can’t help but respect.”

He stared at me. I saw the smouldering hunger behind his eyes.

“What are you talking about, Annatar?” The voice was Gallant’s.

“Or you, Gallant?” I asked, turning to him. “How would you like to be the hero you’ve always wanted to be? Unbreakable, incorruptible, and unyielding?”

He shuddered—almost imperceptible, under his armor, but I saw it.

“And you, Vista? The force of will—to captivate the attention of those around you, to command the respect you deserve. An increase—both in power, and in the respect that power earns you.”

Her hands were shaking. “Annatar—”

“What of you, Kid Win?” I rounded on my fellow Tinker. “The wisdom and _focus_ to see the world as clearly as others do, and manipulate it as only _you_ can. The solidarity of thought to overcome your own weaknesses. I can give you that.”

He took one step toward me, seemingly unaware of his own action. “I—”

“And Browbeat. The insight to understand the people around you; to understand and even _predict_ their actions, and—if necessary—use them against themselves. I can give you that.”

Browbeat stood frozen; his eyes, barely visible through the holes in his mask, were trained unwaveringly on me.

“Clockblocker. The detachment to withstand suffering—to live in the moment, and remain unscathed by the hurts that come into your path. I can give you that.”

I couldn’t see his face under his blank mask, but I could hear his breathing. It was sharp and quick.

“And Shadow Stalker,” I purred, facing the final Ward. “The strength to overcome your own frailties—the strength of self that allows a true hero to put the _self_ aside, in favor of the other. _I can give you that._ ”

“How?” she whispered, almost hungry, slightly hunched before me, staring up into my face. “How?”

I smiled. No—I bared my teeth. “For the _Lord of Gifts_ ,” I hissed, “I’ve sure kept my powers closely guarded, haven’t I? No more. Bakuda will pay— _we_ will make her pay.”

_For you, Dad. All these Rings, arms and armor for me, and not one for you. I’m so sorry._

“I’ve got some tinkering to do tonight,” I said softly. “Once that’s done…”

_Seven for the Wards, in a city of sin._

“...I’ll have something to give to each of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, we're caught up. Lustre 3.6 should come to SpaceBattles and SufficientVelocity tomorrow, and to ffnet and AO3 on Wednesday.


	25. Lustre 3.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to dwood15, Technetium43, frustratedFreeboota, Assembler, themanwhowas, Wafflethorpe, and Rottenkiwi for betareading.

When I had made the Three, it had been in the safety of my own room, over the course of months, steadily making progress as I had the time to work on them. I worked on them a little each afternoon, gradually shaping the scraps into three gorgeous objects, as much treasures as tools, capable of working miracles.

It wasn’t that way this time. This time, I was tired, sick at heart, and burning inside. This time there was no rest, no short periods of work followed by long rests, no ease to the labor. The metal I worked was finer, but the crafting itself was arduous and seemed almost unending.

But I wore Nenya—I wore it throughout the night and into the morning. From the moment I set foot in PRT Headquarters, I was at work in the forge. The workshop sang an old, forgotten song of hammer on anvil, and the music carried on from the last purple fading of twilight until the faint greying of the pre-dawn sky.

The Wards, as per Piggot’s orders, stayed the night in the dorms at HQ, to keep them safe from Bakuda’s bombing spree. The others had long since gone to bed—all but myself and Sophia. She stayed with me, silently watching me work, reclining in an armchair until eventually she, too, succumbed to the call of sleep.

Two by two, the burnished bands of the Seven emerged, and into each I set its proper stone.

The first to emerge, and the only one to be completed alone, rather than as part of a pair, was Cenya, greatest of the Seven, the Ring of Earth, the Ring of Dúrin. In its mithril band was set an emerald, bright green and incandescent with internal fire. Alone among the Seven, this Ring could compare in power and scope to the Three themselves.

The second and third emerged from the forge together. These were Laureya and Silmaya, the Rings of Gold and Silver, the Ring of Day and the Ring of Night, respectively. Into Laureya I placed an orb of purest polished gold against the mithril band, and against the golden band of Silmaya I placed a sphere of luminous mithril.

Then came the fourth and fifth of the Seven: Araya, the Ring of Dawn, and Histeya, the Ring of Dusk. Into Araya’s gold I set a bright fire opal, transparent and radiant, and orange as the sunrise. Into Histeya’s mithril I set an amethyst, dark and deep, colored in the deep violet of falling twilight.

At last came the final pair. Mirilya, the Ring of Jewels, and Ondoya, the Ring of Stone. Into the former’s gold I set a white topaz, transparent and reflective. Into the latter’s mithril I set an onyx, black and mysterious, and deep as night.

At last, when my labor was done, I sat back and sighed, dismissing hammer and anvil and simply staring down at the steel platter where rested a new line of Rings of Power.

Each Ring was slightly different, each possessed of unique attributes, but none were so singular as the Three, save perhaps for Cenya.

I stood up and stretched, letting out a faint moan as my vertebrae crackled like rice paper. I picked up the tablet and crossed the room, setting it down on the coffee table beside Sophia before touching her shoulder gently with one hand.

“Sophia,” I murmured. “It’s time.”

She mumbled something inaudible and shifted to her side, curling into the armchair’s cushions. Her eyes opened and sought mine.

“Taylor…?” she muttered.

“You fell asleep,” I said. “They’re ready, Sophia.”

She blinked and stretched, almost catlike. Then she stopped and stared down at the seven glimmering Rings before her.

“Wow,” she whispered, her eyes shining with the reflected glow.

I smiled slightly. “Help me wake the others,” I said.

* * *

 

The workshop was dead silent. It was lit only by the dim lamps set in the corners of the room—I’d stopped Aegis from lighting the main fluorescents as he came in. The eight of us were standing around a round table in the center. Each of the other Wards was interchanging between watching me and looking down at the seven Rings on the table between us.

Narya was on my finger, now, and my presence filled the room—not overpowering, but captivating the other Wards, keeping them focused on me, and on my gifts.

“I’ve told you all about my modules,” I said, looking from one Ward to another. “But now, at last, you see what they look like to _me_.” I slipped Narya off of my finger and held it out for inspection.

“This is Narya,” I said. “The Ring of Fire, one of the Rings of Power, of the set of Three. Those Three are the modules I have been using. Tonight I forged a new set, a set of Seven Rings of Power, one for each of you.”

I set Narya down in the center of table and met each Ward’s eyes as I continued. “The Rings of Power are dangerous and powerful. They will give you strength, but they will also bind you to them. If you accept the burden of their bearing, your fates will be forever tied to theirs. These are not mere trinkets, tools and weapons like other tinkertech; these will tie themselves to your very soul, and their essence will become inextricable from yours, save by death.”

There was a pause. I had their full attention. “If anyone doesn’t want their share in this gift,” I finished, “speak now.”

There was dead silence as the seven Wards watched me without a hint of response. I smiled and, slipping Narya back onto my finger, I began.

“To you, Sam,” I said, taking up one, “I give Ondoya, the Ring of Stone. It will give you clarity and certainty, of yourself and of others, and you will be as hard and incorruptible as stone.”

I handed the onyx and mithril band to Sam, to Browbeat, and he cradled it in his hands, staring down at it with dark, hooded eyes.

“To you, Chris,” I continued, taking up its twin, “I give Mirilya, the Ring of Jewels. Your works and your working will be as radiant and clear as cut gems. To you, and to others.”

The gold and topaz Ring I gave to Kid Win, whose hands shook as he turned it over and over in his fingers.

“To you, Dean,” I said then, taking up the next Ring, “I give Araya, the Ring of Dawn. It will allow your honest intent to shine into the hearts and minds of all who behold you.”

The opal and gold I placed into his outstretched hand, and he held it up to his eye, looking through the hole in wonder.

“To you, Missy,” I said, taking up Araya’s sister Ring, “I give Histeya, the Ring of Dusk. All who see you will be in awe of your majesty, and be cowed by the scale you represent.”

The Ring of mithril and amethyst I gently placed between her reaching fingers, and she ran her thumb over it, glancing between it, Gallant, and me.

“To you, Carlos,” I said, “I give Laureya, the Ring of Gold, the Ring of the Sun. You will be as bright and as powerful as the fire itself—incandescent and forceful, impossible to deny.”

The gold-on-silver band I dropped into his palm, which he brought up to his face. The light of the Ring reflected on his brown eyes, making them dance.

“To you, Dennis,” I said, taking up the last paired Ring, “I give Silmaya, the Ring of Silver, the Ring of the Moon. You will be as calm and as gentle as moonlight, and will be the confidante and trustee of all those you care for.”

The Ring, silver-on-gold, I held out to him, and he plucked it up between thumb and forefinger, rotating it to see the pale light flickering off the orb.

I turned to my final Ward, who was biting her lip, watching me raptly. “Sophia,” I said, taking up the last of the Seven. “With this, I _bind_ you, you understand that? I give you this freely, and it is _yours_ to use—but there is only one Lord of the Rings; only one who can truly master their power. That which I give, I can yet take away.”

“I understand,” she said, meeting my gaze steadily. “I’m in this for the long haul, Ann—Taylor.”

I smiled, and her lips twitched in response. “Then to you, Sophia,” I said softly, “you, who have fought beside me; you, who have seen me at my worst and my best—to you, I give Cenya, the Ring of Earth, the Green Ring, the Emerald Ring, greatest of the Seven. It will give you dominion over all that lingers in darkness, both outside and _inside_ yourself. It will allow you to rule over the deepest, darkest pits—both the caverns that delve into the deep places of the world, and the shadowy crevices within your own heart where you do not dare to tread.”

I took her left hand in mine and, my eyes unwavering from hers, I gently slipped the silver band onto her index finger. I saw her eyes widen the moment it was secure. Her body seemed to tense, her spirit flared and _sang_ with power. A green light seemed to shimmer within her, blazing forth from her eyes before growing dim—no, not dim, _controlled_ , as she took hold of it and brought it to heel.

Her faint, uncertain smile spread into a wild, unchained grin. “ _Holy shit_ ,” she whispered.

I stepped away from her and looked around at the other Wards. One by one, they slipped their own Rings of Power onto their own fingers. One by one, their souls flared like stars in the night sky, shining forth with the brilliance of the sun and the moon, and singing like angels in the heavens.

Each responded a little differently. Carlos staggered, as though suddenly struggling under a great load, before seeming to find new strength. Dennis relaxed, his face softening slightly, his eyes growing calm. Missy exhaled—something between a sigh and a hiss—and shuddered slightly, as though in a pleasantly cool wind. Dean’s fists clenched and his face seemed to harden, taking on a solid edge reminiscent of great kings and knights of old. Chris stepped back, staring down at his open palms, wonder in his wide eyes and parted lips. Sam’s jaw set and his gaze seemed to sharpen, steadying and growing more focused.

“Welcome to the fold, Ring-Bearers,” I murmured, bringing my hands together and steepling my fingers, Narya shining in a blaze of fire on my finger.

“Is this a loan?” Missy asked, and her voice was hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer. “Are we going to have to give these… give these back once this mess with Bakuda is done?”

Suddenly, the air of wonder which suffused the room thickened with tension—and a hint of jealousy. Already the Wards were bound to their Rings, more tightly than I was to the Three—for I was the Ring-Maker, resilient to their call, while the other heroes were as moths drawn to a radiant flame.

It was my responsibility, then, to ensure they were not burned.

I shook my head in answer to the question. “Once you have borne a Ring of Power,” I said quietly, “it will leave its mark upon you forever. I wouldn’t take them from you unless I meant to make your lives a torture forevermore.” I smiled slightly. “At this point, I’ve no intention of doing anything of the sort.”

“Does that mean we have to keep them on all the time?” Sam asked.

“Not at all,” I said. “I took mine off nightly, at first, although I’ve taken to wearing one of them to bed more often lately. You could almost certainly go days, months, or even years without wearing them. It likely wouldn’t even be too hard, so long as you kept them with you—in a pocket, or on a chain around your neck. But parting with them fully will not be easy.”

“They’re addictive?” Missy asked sharply. “Is that what you meant when you said they were _binding_? Could’ve put it like that.”

“No more than any power is,” I said simply, shaking my head. “Surely you couldn’t drop your ability to warp space at a whim? Just stop using it forever?”

She grimaced and looked away.

“Let me be clear,” I said. “The Rings of Power are _dangerous_. Do _not_ use them lightly. But they are _yours_ , and will bend to your will. Do not use them lightly, but _use_ them, and use them well. They will give you what you desire, so long as you seek it actively and unerringly.”

“So what do they do, exactly?” Sophia asked.

I chuckled and spread my hands. “I don’t know, exactly,” I said honestly. “That’s as much up to you as to me. I don’t even know what my Rings do, in full, let alone yours. I encourage you to experiment, learn about them. Think of it like learning how your powers worked. Be aware that they have a tendency to reveal abilities in the middle of a crisis.”

“Like your superspeed,” Sophia remembered.

I nodded. “And mastering, and enhanced senses, and strength. Nenya’s barriers showed up when I had buckshot halfway to my face.”

“Nenya?” Chris asked.

“You know it as Water.”

“You showed us Narya,” said Carlos, studying me. “The other two, Water and Air--they’re also Rings?”

“The Three Rings of Power,” I confirmed. “Narya, Nenya, and Vilya. Fire, Water, and Air.” I produced the Jewelry Box and opened it with a murmured passphrase, and Nenya and Vilya both shone forth like stars. “I keep them in here,” I said, “so that I can swap between them when I need to. I’ll probably give two of them away at some point, but I don’t know when.” _I might even give away the third, one day—One day._

“So what do you want us to do with these?” Dean asked. “What, are we supposed to go after Bakuda now, against orders?”

“Of course not,” I said dryly. “I won’t deny _I_ might break ranks and go after her, and I might take people with me, if we hear anything about where she is. I think I’ve earned my pound of flesh there. But no, I’m not going to demand anyone disobey orders and jeopardize their position here. For now, these are just… a bit of assistance. An added boost to each of you, trying to close the gap between heroes and villains in this city. It’s not enough… not yet.” I smiled. “But I’m not done yet. Not by half.”

“Can I help?” Sophia asked immediately.

I chuckled, smiling at her. “Not yet,” I said. “Go back to sleep, all of you—I’m going to bed.” I looked at the clock on the wall—it was almost five in the morning. “See you in a couple hours.”


	26. Interlude 3b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to dwood15, Technetium43, Assembler, and frustratedFreeboota for betareading.

The captain of the Wards retreated to the room ordained for him. Carlos made haste to shut the way behind him before setting his back against the oaken door. His eyes sought the glimmering gold which twined about his hand. Laureya, the Ring of Gold, the Ring of the Sun, shone like purest golden fire, lighting up the small space like noon on a summer’s day.

_You will be as bright and as powerful as the fire itself—incandescent and forceful, impossible to deny._

“What the fuck,” he whispered helplessly as he tried to hold onto lucidity. “What the fuck.”

He was keenly aware of the rushing blood beneath his skin, of the drumming of his heart, of the air-conditioned breeze which ran cool and crisp across every inch of exposed skin. He shuddered.

Fifteen minutes ago, he’d just been a guy who could take a hit from almost anything and keep going. Now—now he felt _different_. Changed. Inhuman and superhuman.

He was unsure whether there was any way back to who he had been before. He was unsure whether he would wish to take it, were it open to him.

Carlos looked around the room, lit dimly by the shine of the Ring of Power. He noted the spidery cracks in the paint over the concrete walls, heard the faint droning of the electrical hum which suffused the building, smelled the faint tang of salt under the filtered, processed air. These were all things he had sensed before--he had merely failed to perceive them.

 _All is sharper, now—sight, sound, scent._ He ran a finger over the Ring of Power upon his hand. _A fog has lifted from the world, and I am at last seeing things for what they truly are, rather than trying to pick out shapes half-hidden in mist._

With a gentle undulation he pushed his body off of the door and strode two paces into his room until he was in its center. From there he stared about, studying the golden light which played upon every surface, flickering and shifting as though passing through water or a thin mist.

 _From the first, something was different in Annatar,_ he reflected. _Some hint there was that she was unlike the rest of us. She is larger than life. Never has she quite_ matched _what I expect of a cape. This, then, is why._

From the moment the Ring of Power had first slipped onto his finger, Annatar had been transformed.

No, that was wrong. With Laureya on his finger, he saw the true shape of things. Suddenly Annatar had shifted before his very eyes. _But it was like an optical illusion,_ he realized. He’d been looking at her one way, and seeing one thing. With Laureya, _his_ perspective changed, and he saw another. _Annatar_ was unaltered; it was he who was seeing her through new eyes.

 _Her skin can scarcely contain her._ That was the thought that had first entered his mind—that she was practically _bursting_ from out her slim frame, so much was contained within. Her eyes had seemed to shine forth like warm fire, flickering merrily in her pale face, above her satisfied smile. So bright was she in the shaded gloom that he had nearly missed the red nova of light which lingered on her finger. _Narya_. The Ring of Fire.

Small wonder she was powerful—small wonder she could match men like Lung, blow for blow. _Three_ Rings of Power? He had barely even begun to know what it was like to carry one, but he knew, with the intuition of a babe faced with a great height, that he could never have carried even two. Annatar bore _three_.

Beyond all else he wondered how she could bear to be _divided_ in such a way. Already Laureya demanded his loyalty, even as it offered him support. He could feel it—a tether on his heart, a firm but gentle grip and a light tug without direction. Gentle, light, and _warm_ above all, but still a grip; still a pull. To bear more than one Ring of Power would have torn him asunder.

 _There’s no way to say it that doesn’t sound creepy,_ he reflected, tearing his eyes from the Ring and looking into the dark of his room. But it _wasn’t_ —not really. It was a symbiosis between him and his Ring of Power. He needed the gift it represented, the power it could bring to bear. It needed him to bear it, to carry it forth and use it to—what?

He shook his head, glancing back at the Ring of Power. Instinctively he knew that Laureya was meant for some purpose greater than the bringing of one criminal, even one so heinous as Bakuda, into custody. This thing upon his hand, so beautiful and awful to behold, meant more— _was_ more than just a tool, a piece of tinkertech to be used or lay idle at the whims of its bearer.

 _This is a responsibility._ This, he recognized, was the chain he felt. This was the bond his Ring had lain upon him. While he bore it, he was bound to a purpose higher than his highest aspirations before.

_It is not enough to be a hero. I must be a paragon; a beacon. I must be the sun to the others’ stars._

It was not quite ambition that came then unto to the leader of the Wards. Carlos was no stranger to ambition, though he had kept it ever at bay before. Ambition was hot and selfish, like a wildfire, taking and consuming all that lay in its path until achievements became mere stepping-stones and distant goals became nothing but illusions.

This new dream, borne unto him by the golden light of Laureya, was warm and kind, like sunlight on bare skin. It was not ambition, because it was not selfish. He wanted not to become this greatest of heroes for himself—not for glory or for praise. He wished only to fulfill the task that had been appointed to him.

_Annatar chose me to bear a Ring of Power. Laureya, the Ring of the Sun. I owe it to her, and to everyone else, to bear it as best I can. I owe it to Laureya._

The Ring of Power seemed to warm and curl gently about his finger in acceptance. Carlos, Bearer of the Sun-Ring, smiled and brought it to his lips.

* * *

 

“Carlos,” Annatar greeted, smiling sadly at him as he emerged into the lounge. She was looking at him through a mirror, her hands clasped around a bundle of her own hair which she had gathered up for inspection. For the first time he noticed the blackened lengths at the end of several strands.

“Lung,” she said, by way of explanation. “My armor blocked the worst of it, but my hair wasn’t protected.” She sighed and looked mournfully at the charred fibers.

“It’ll grow back,” he tried to reassure her.

“I know,” she said with another sad smile. “I just—it was always my best feature. I was _proud_ of my hair.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “I was just going to go report your new _modules_ to Piggot. Think you could help me?”

He thumbed Laureya, warm and pleasant on his finger, and glanced down at the blue Ring on his teammate’s before nodding. “Sure.”

He followed her into the elevator and up to the Director’s office. Piggot glanced up as they entered.

“Aegis, Annatar,” she greeted. “If you’re looking for news on the situation with Bakuda, I’m afraid I don’t have any at the moment.”

“No,” said Annatar. “But that reminds me—any word on my dad?”

“Last I heard, the doctors had stabilized him,” Piggot said. “I didn’t hear of Panacea going in to see him, but I think he’s stable, if not cured. I’d have heard if that had changed.”

Annatar nodded. “When will I be able to go in to see him?” she asked. “I could probably help with Air.”

“Sometime today,” Piggot replied. “I don’t know exactly when; it depends on when the Protectorate Thinkers figure out anything regarding Bakuda’s—”

_Boom._

A pause. “—movements.” Piggot’s voice was hard as she finished the sentence. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” Annatar said. “Last night, I produced a set of modules for the Wards, and handed them out.”

“You _what_?” Piggot thundered. “You handed out _your_ untested tinkertech to your teammates without even _mentioning_ it to me?”

“There was no way to test them!” Annatar protested. “My modules can’t just be _passed around_ for testing! I needed to make sure that the people who got them were the people I wanted to bear them! I’m here with Aegis now so that you can test his!”

Piggot put her head in her hands. There was a moment’s silence.

“I can’t blame you for how your powers work,” the director said, her voice muffled. It sounded like a mantra. There was another pause. Then she looked up. “Okay,” she said. “Back up. These modules—they can’t have more than one user?”

Annatar lifted her hand, palm down, tilting it side to side in a so-so gesture. “Technically they can,” she said. “But… it wouldn’t be good for the guy doing the testing.”

Piggot blinked once, slowly. “How so?” she asked.

“The modules bind themselves to their user,” Annatar said. “I told the Wards that it’d be very hard for them to give up their modules once they took them. I did some more thinking, and I think I could _help_ them get over it, using Air. But it’d still take time.”

“They’re addictive.” Piggot’s voice was perfectly deadpan.

“…Sort of, yeah.”

“You just handed out addictive power boosts to your teammates.”

“…It’s not that simple—”

Piggot sighed. “Aegis,” she said. “Round up your teammates and report to M/S confinement, if you please. With luck, we’ll have you cleared by the afternoon, and we can get on with our lives.”

“She didn’t master us—” Carlos objected.

“That,” said Piggot quietly, “is for M/S screening to decide. Annatar, will you report to a holding cell while we screen your teammates voluntarily, or do I have to foam you and this entire room?”

There was a pause.

“It’s really not as bad as you think it is,” Annatar said. Her voice was small; almost hurt. Betrayed.

“I hope you’re right,” said Piggot evenly. Then she sighed. “I’m _not_ doing this to spite you, Annatar,” she said. “It’s entirely possible that there was no better way to do this than what you did. You _still_ should have cleared it in advance, but maybe there really was no way to test these _modules_ before distributing them. I don’t understand powers—yours or anyone else’s. I don’t know. But I do know that when my Wards have received something that sounds uncomfortably similar to the master/trump effects of Teacher—who is in the _Birdcage_ , by the way—it’s my duty to make sure they go through proper M/S screening. This is _not_ a full M/S confinement—if you’re telling the truth, you’ll be out within two or three hours. We just need to get this cleared before we proceed.”

“It’s okay, Annatar,” Carlos said gently. “It’ll just be a quick screening and we’ll be out.”

Annatar swallowed. “Will I still be able to go see my dad today?” she asked.

“I hope so, Annatar,” said Piggot evenly, touching a button on her desk. “Armsmaster, Miss Militia, please report to my office.”

* * *

 

“This is fucking stupid,” Sophia grumbled from her position in the corner of the M/S cell. The whole room was well-lit by the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. There was nothing present to cast a shadow—which made the dark space in which she reclined against the wall, arms folded, seem all the more out of place.

“It’s understandable,” said Dennis calmly, sitting cross-legged with his back to the wall, his eyes shut and his face perfectly at ease. “ _I’d_ be suspicious if Annatar had given all of you Rings and I didn’t know what they were. Heck, maybe we _are_ mastered, and we just can’t tell.”

“No,” said Dean firmly, looking from Dennis to the rest of the Wards with eyes that seemed almost to glow, so bright were the irises. “Annatar wasn’t lying to us. She can’t control us through our Rings. We are _bound_ to them, but not bound to _obey_.”

“And it’s not as though we weren’t bound to powers already,” said Missy quietly. Carlos glanced at her, then looked away quickly, focusing on a point somewhere a few feet to her right. In the night, Vista seemed to have grown two years—although he couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly, had changed. Where before, she had been a kid barely into puberty, she now seemed a beautiful young woman, who had yet to flower into still more. She hadn’t gained appreciable height, nor had her body shifted, yet her barely-developed curves and childlike features were suddenly _not_ ; now, instead, her features were more womanly than infantile. The effect, on the whole, was breathtaking.

Each of them had changed, but it was Missy who exercised her new powers over her teammates the most. Carlos doubted she had conscious control over them, any more than he did.

“Annatar was right,” Missy continued. “We couldn’t stop using our parahuman powers if we wanted to. The Rings of Power are no different. And no worse.”

“Let’s just hope the PRT can see that,” said Carlos quietly. “If they do, we’ll be out of here before lunchtime.”

“And if they can’t?” Sam’s voice seemed to cut through the air like a knife, instantly drawing attention.

Carlos shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I don’t know.”

“They can’t take them from us,” said Chris tersely. “I—Mirilya’s made me see more clearly than I have in _years_. It’s like I don’t even _have_ — it’s like all my problems with my powers are just _gone_. I could finish any project I set my mind to like this. They can’t take them from us.”

“They won’t,” said Sophia, idly fiddling with Cenya, which glittered green on her ring finger. “Taylor won’t let them.”

“Annatar is currently in a holding cell until they decide whether we’re mastered,” said Dennis calmly. “Hate to say it, but she probably can’t help us with this one. Piggot likes her, but not _that_ much.”

“Taylor hasn’t let us down yet,” said Sophia firmly. “Her modules haven’t either. We’ll manage. It’ll be fine.”

Carlos ran his thumb against the gentle warmth of Laureya’s band. After a moment, he sighed.

“You’re right,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”


	27. Lustre 3.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @dwood15, @Technetium43, @frustratedFreeboota, @Assembler, and @Wafflethorpe for betareading.

The PRT’s holding cells weren’t like the square, concrete rooms publicized on TV and in film, with a single shoddy cot and bars over the window. Well, I mean, they _were_ , but the concrete was painted in a nice, soft blue, the cot was actually surprisingly comfortable, and there weren’t any bars on the window. Partly because there was no window. Also, instead of one wall consisting entirely of bars like I’d half expected, all four walls were lead-lined concrete with a heavy metal door in one.

This was a cell meant to contain a brute or striker. It still wouldn’t have held Lung, I expected, but Glory Girl or Aegis would have probably been stuck.

I lay back on the cot, staring up at the flat ceiling, my fingers drumming an idle rhythm on my pant leg. I didn’t have my armor or my weapons, but Vilya was still on my finger, and I’d been given a plain domino mask to protect my identity from any personnel without clearance to know it. The cheap plastic was uncomfortable, digging into the contours of my face while still seeming on the verge of falling off.

I didn’t know how long I’d been here. Probably not long, although it felt like hours. There was nothing to do, and I’d already counted the cracks in the ceiling and walls. (There weren’t any—cracks were a structural weakness.)

 _“Annatar?”_ The voice emerged from a speaker beside the door. It was a woman’s, gentle and soft, but possessed of a firm undertone.

“Yes? Who is it?” I asked.

 _“I’m Dragon,”_ the voice replied. _“I’m in charge of master/stranger screening.”_

“Don’t you live in Canada somewhere?” I asked, not bothering to look over at the speaker.

 _“Vancouver.”_ Dragon’s voice was faintly amused. _“The distance is helpful, actually, since it keeps some masters from affecting me.”_

“And you’re going to interrogate me?”

 _“No,”_ said Dragon. _“We’re currently setting up the M/S screening for your teammates. You’ll only need to go through a proper M/S vetting if they come up positive.”_

“Meaning, if you decide I’ve mastered them.”

 _“Right. Now, I’m required to ask—_ did _you master them, knowingly?”_

“No.”

 _“Honesty may cause the PRT to be lenient,”_ Dragon coaxed. _“We have worked with known masters before.”_

I sat up and looked over at the small red LED in the surface of the speaker. “I did not master my fucking teammates,” I bit out. “I gave them objects which will provide them a boost, at the cost that the objects themselves are, in some sense, addictive. They don’t have to _use_ them, but they are _bound_ to them. They can’t easily give them up. I _can’t_ control them through them.”

_Not yet._

I shoved that thought down hard. _I don’t want to control them!_ I told myself, and it was true. I really, really didn’t. I’d been without friends for almost two years. Now, at last, I had them—and I couldn’t seem to escape the fact that, with a mere few days’ work, they could become little more than thralls.

 _“If you’re telling the truth,”_ Dragon replied, _“then you should be out of here within the next couple of hours. The Director will certainly want to talk to you, but we won’t need to have a serious M/S vetting.”_

“Good,” I grunted, and lay back down.

 _“For the record, I believe you,”_ Dragon reassured me. _“It’s procedure.”_

“Right. What else can I do for you today?”

Dragon sighed, the sound hissing slightly as it emerged from the speaker. _“Do you want anything?”_ she asked. _“A book, music?”_

“Sure I won’t master anyone with them?”

 _“Annatar, please. I—_ ”

“I’m sorry,” I interrupted, not waiting to hear her chastisement. “A book would be nice.”

_“Any particular requests?”_

I stared up at the ceiling for a moment in thought. “ _The Odyssey_ would be nice,” I decided.

 _“I’ll have someone bring you a copy,”_ said Dragon. _“Thank you for your cooperation, Annatar.”_

I didn’t reply.

* * *

 

The door opened. I glanced up.

“Annatar.” What little I could see of Armsmaster’s face was impassive.

“So?” I asked. “What’s the verdict?”

“The Wards haven’t been mastered,” he said. “Come with me. We need to debrief you, and then we can put this behind us.”

I stood up. “Right,” I said. “Forget all about it. Sounds like a plan. Lead the way.”

I followed him down the hall, up the elevator, and into Piggot’s office. The other Wards were already there. Piggot was talking to them as we arrived.

“—don’t care _how_ good it sounded,” she growled. “Untested tinkertech is _always_ dangerous. You’re _very_ fortunate Annatar seems to have a grip on her powers. Oh, Annatar, you’re here—thank you, Armsmaster.”

I took up a position between Carlos and Sophia. “Ma’am.”

Piggot sighed. “You’re angry,” she said.

I smiled thinly. “No,” I replied. “I understand the reasoning behind what you did. My three hour time-out gave me plenty of time to think.”

“Then can you tell me what you did wrong?”

“No.”

Our eyes met.

“If I had approached you with my modules before I gave them to the Wards,” I said quietly, “you would have insisted on testing them before allowing them to go to the Wards. _Maybe_ you’d have listened to me, when I said they bound themselves to their bearers, and would have allowed the Wards to test them. More likely, you’d have had PRT personnel test them. Had you done that… I could not be held responsible for what might have happened to those men. And yet I would have been, and my three-hour stay in a cell would have wound up being much longer.”

Piggot’s eyes did not waver from mine. “I’ve given you a hell of a lot of slack, Annatar,” she retorted. “You want to rethink that?”

I didn’t answer.

“ _Here’s_ what would have happened,” Piggot told me. “When you told me that these modules would have ill effects when tested by someone other than their intended user, _I would have believed you_ , because I know better than to think I’m an expert in your tinkertech. The Wards would have been allowed to test their own modules. And even if they weren’t, when my own people suffered ill effects because I refused to listen to the expert on the tech, I would have blamed the person responsible— _myself_.”

I didn’t answer.

“I’ve been doing this for a long time, Annatar,” Piggot said. “I know better than to claim to be an expert on a tinker’s tech.”

The silence stretched, but I didn’t break it.

Piggot leaned back. “The Wards tell me you were open regarding the dangers of these modules,” she said. “I believe them. That’s a big point in your favor. You screwed up here, Annatar, but your mistake was in not trusting _me_ , not in taking advantage of your teammates. That’s not _good_ , but it’s better than both.”

I pursed my lips but refused to reply.

Piggot considered me. “I can’t exactly pull you off active duty,” she said. “Not with Bakuda still on the loose. But we’ll talk about your punishment once she’s apprehended—and don’t think I’ll forget.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. Now, your assignments. Aegis, I don’t want any Wards on their own right now, and I want any team outside of this building to have a means of escaping an engagement. That means Vista, Clockblocker, or Annatar using Water.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Carlos.

“Send a squad with Annatar to the hospital,” Piggot said. “Annatar, you can help your father, and then see if you can assist the doctors with other patients.”

I blinked and nodded gratefully. “Yes, Ma’am. Thank you.”

She blinked at me. “I’m not going to hold your father’s health hostage as a punishment,” she said incredulously.

I glanced away.

She sighed. “Stay here a bit after we finish,” she said. “Aegis, send one more team on a major patrol route, and keep at least two Wards here, in addition to the one on console. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. Annatar, stay here. Dismissed, the rest of you.”

My teammates filed out. Each of them gave me a nod as they passed me, and Carlos, the last of them, patted me on the shoulder as he left.

Piggot studied me, her face expressionless. “I thought you were better than this,” she said.

I think a muscle jumped in my neck.

“I really thought you were beginning to get it,” she continued. “And then you go and do something like this.”

“Why are we having this conversation?” I asked.

“You know why.”

I pursed my lips. At length, I sighed. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “You can’t do this again, Annatar,” she said. “I can’t have a loose cannon like this in the Wards, even one who seems to be improving.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She studied me, then shook her head. “Just… work with me, all right?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll—I’ll try.”

“Good,” she said. “Go join your teammates. Make sure you bring all three of your modules.”

“I will.”

* * *

 

“Wards?” the guy at the hospital’s front desk blinked as Sophia and I came forward. “Do you need something?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m Annatar, and I’m a healer. I’m here to help.”

His face lit up. “Really?” he said. “Oh, thank you! I’ll just clear it with the doctors and then we’ll get you right into the ICU.”

“Oh,” I said. “Before I help other patients, there’s one I want to see first. Daniel Hebert? It’s personal.”

He blinked at me, then comprehension dawned. “Oh, of course. I’ll find his room for you.”

He bustled off, leaving us alone in the lobby save for a few people in chairs a couple dozen feet down.

I glanced at Sophia. “How’s Cenya treating you?” I asked.

She glanced down at the Ring of Power on the ring finger of her left hand. “It’s…” she stumbled, seemingly at a loss, her face hidden behind her mask. “I don’t even know how to describe it,” she murmured.

I chuckled. “Good, though?”

“Very. I feel like I could take on Lung.” She glanced up at me. “Uh… could I?”

I shrugged. “Depends on if you took him by surprise,” I said. “Don’t get too cocky.”

“I won’t. I’ll be careful.”

The guy came back. “Room 142,” he said. “His condition is stable, but… well, quite a lot of cosmetic damage.”

I swallowed. “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

* * *

 

‘Quite a lot of cosmetic damage’ didn’t really cover it. Dad’s whole body was swaddled in white bandages, some of which were damp and red with pus and blood. He didn’t have too much by way of broken bones, from what I could see, but there wasn’t much of his body that wasn’t severely burned. Most of his hair was gone, and what was there was charred—his scalp was in a far worse state than mine.

His eyes were covered by shaded goggles, but by the steady rise and fall of his chest, he wasn’t awake.

I approached his bedside. “Hey, Dad,” I said gently. “I—I’ve come to help.”

I set my hand gently on his brow. Vilya flared with light.

I wasn’t Panacea. I couldn’t just will his body into shape. I could only accelerate his own healing, and perhaps help in my own small way.

“Bring me a bowl of warm water and a cloth, please,” I told Sophia. She nodded and crossed to the sink, rummaging in cabinets.

After a minute or so, she returned and set a plastic bowl of water on the bedside table. A washcloth was submerged within.

I removed my hand from my Dad’s brow and took off my gauntlets, slipping Vilya off the mithril armor and onto my uncovered finger. Reaching into the bowl, I took up the washcloth and pulled it out of the pleasantly warm bath, squeezing and twisting it to remove the excess.

I brought the cloth to my father’s forehead and began dabbing at him with it, all the while allowing Vilya to do its work. As I did, I sang under my breath.

“ _Ir fuin tôl or i amrún_  
_Ar i Anor nelêdh annûn_  
_Tolo na Annatar, na i rhûn:_  
_Ad i galad sílatha ed rhûn na dûn._ ”

The washcloth steamed slightly in my hand as I drew out the hurt and the damage. Slowly I ran it along his face, and where it passed the bandages peeled away of their own accord to reveal smooth, unblemished skin. Not every part of his face took only a single pass—some parts I had to pass over more than once to clear away the blisters and burns.

The shadows lengthened slowly as I worked, the sun sinking lower in the room’s single westward window. I spent almost an hour there, carefully clearing my father’s face of damage. Sophia sat down in a chair by his bedside soon after I began and simply watched me work in silence.

Once Dad’s face was clear, I dipped the cloth back into the water, wrung it out again, and passed it over his eyes.

They opened, and were clear.

“Taylor?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“Hush,” I murmured, bringing the cloth down to his chest. “I’m here. It’s okay, Dad. It’ll all be okay.”

_End Arc 3: Lustre_


	28. Sheen 4.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to dwood15, Technetium43, frustratedFreeboota, and Assembler for betareading.  
> Many thanks to MugaSofer for fact checking.

Silent as mist, I crept from one rooftop to another, leaping from building to building. In the street below, Gallant moved down the sidewalk, seemingly alone. From its perch upon his finger, Araya cast a warm light all about him. The golden light played merrily upon the silver banding of his armor.

I looked into the night before us, searching.

 _Boom._ Another explosion, to the west. I looked to my left at the flash of blue to see a layer of frost rapidly spreading up the walls of a small office building. The ice crept upward like the onset of winter in microcosm, cracking stone and breaking glass.

“What was that?” Gallant’s voice emerged from my radio. Far below, he had stopped and was looking over in the direction of the explosion.

“Just a show of force. Looks like no one was in there,” Vista reassured him from the console.

He sighed. “I really hate this. Being on edge all the time, always worried where she’ll strike next.”

“That’s the idea, Gallant,” I said.

The bombings had slowed in the several days since my release from confinement, especially during the daylight hours. Bakuda was getting comfortable, doing no more than remind the city who ruled it. This suited us well. Comfort was already breeding complacency, and the complacent monarch would be all the easier to unseat.

I looked back down into the long trough of road, seeking the circle of light where Gallant walked, then looking ahead into the darkness of the street.

My eyes narrowed slightly, squinting. There were three men creeping out from an alleyway, a block and a half down.

“Gallant,” I murmured into the radio. “Three hostiles, dead ahead.” I reached with my gaze and studied their features. “ABB, as far as I can tell.”

“Sure they’re up to no good?”

“Unless civilians have a habit of carrying automatic weapons.” In fact, only one had an assault rifle—the other two carried pistols—but that was still cause for concern. I unslung Belthronding from my back, the deep black yew of the limbs gleaming in the dim starlight, and nocked an arrow without bringing it to my eye. “We should follow at a distance, for now. Console?”

“Agreed,” said Vista, her clear voice short and businesslike. “Keep them in your sights, Annatar. They may lead you to a cape.”

I leapt across another alleyway without a sound.

“We’ll keep you posted,” Gallant promised.

The men continued down the road, sticking to the dark between streetlamps and staying beneath awnings and in the shadows of buildings. They moved as men wishing not to be seen, unaware that they had already been found, unaware that they were already pinned beneath my gaze as moths in a collection.

We were just northwest of downtown, in the neighborhoods which, in another city, might have become upscale apartments and condominiums. In the wreck which was Brockton Bay, however, they were hollow shells, four or five stories tall, abandoned by all but the desperate. This was the no-man’s-land between the Empire’s territory downtown and the ABB’s holdings in the Dock’s—or it had been, until the ABB began its recent push. On the south side, it was a place where the Empire pushed its undesirables, its outcasts. In short, blacks, Asians, and everyone else who did not match their view of the ‘Übermensch.’ On the north, it was prime recruiting ground for the ABB, who could harvest any Asian civilians pushed into this part of the city by the Empire.

The whole affair was almost as disgusting as it was pitiful.

The men halted, just outside the light of a streetlamp, in the shadow of an awning on a relatively major intersection. In better days, this street corner would have been crossed by cars and pedestrians with some regularity, even at this time of night. With Bakuda at large, however, all the streets were empty after dark.

“They’ve stopped,” I reported. “They’re…waiting, I think. Shall I move in?”

“Yes,” Vista said. “Get a better view, if you can.”

I leapt across another divide, landing on a fire escape, and then clambered up the outside of it to reach the higher roof, before creeping forward again.

The men were silent, staring out into the night with the wary unease of the hunted. Their eyes darted to and fro, seeking any sign of something amiss in the night. Every so often, one would even glance up, but even they failed to see me, cloaked as I was by Nenya.

“They’re on guard,” I warned Gallant. “Don’t come too close. They’re at the big intersection with—” I glanced at the street sign “—Cobbler’s.”

“Understood, Annatar,” said Gallant softly. “I’ll keep out of sight.”

I brought Belthronding up slightly, ready to fire it at a moment’s notice, and waited as Gallant slowly moved forward, toward the three men. In a few moments, he was in the shadow of an alcove, perhaps a hundred and fifty feet from them.

“I’m ready,” he said, voice soft in my ear. “How do you want to do this?”

I ran my tongue over my teeth thoughtfully before replying. “Draw their attention and their fire on my mark. I’ll disable their cover and weapons.”

“Got it. Waiting for your word.”

I brought my hand away from my ear, took a deep breath, and leapt off the roof and into the alley. I dropped, one story after another, landing in a low crouch on the balls of my feet with only the faintest _clack_ of metal on stone.

I slipped into the cover of a dumpster. There I slung Belthronding back over my shoulder and unhooked the Jewelry Box from my lower back.

“ _Edro a adlenc._ ”

I covered the opening box with one hand to hide the escaping light as I quickly set the Box across my knee and slipped Nenya off with the other. On came Narya and the Box was shut again.

I slung it back, withdrew Belthronding, and put my hand back to my ear. “Ready when you are, Gallant.”

There was the familiar, distinctive sound of one of Gallant’s blasts from the street as my only answer. It wasn’t easy to describe, a sort of ringing, hissing blast. It was answered by shouts, the sound of shattering glass, and gunfire.

I took a deep breath, nocked an arrow to my bow, and dove out into the street.

Gallant had filled the avenue with a golden-orange light, and was currently ducking into a doorway as the three men fired on his position with their guns. They had taken cover inside a building and were shooting out through broken windows.

That would not protect them. I loosed one arrow into the men’s cover, then palmed the detonator Kid Win had given me, which was hooked upon my belt.

The low wall behind which the men hid exploded into bright light, flaring into many colors. Red, blue, white, and green lit up the night like fireworks blazing forth with a booming like drums and a blast like war-horns.

The men stumbled, jumping away from their failing cover with oaths. I nocked another arrow to Belthronding and again took aim, but was interrupted by an orb of light, silvery-white as mithril, which burst from Gallant and impacted one of the three. He stumbled, dropping his gun.

I fired Belthronding twice. Each arrow struck true, knocking the pistols out of the men’s hands and sending them skidding down the street with a clatter. They stared after the weapons for a moment, then looked over at me. I gave them a faint smile.

Then they did something I did not expect. With a desperate, wordless cry, the two men charged me.

I withdrew another arrow and nocked it. “Surrender,” I said.

They didn’t stop.

I let fly. One arrow landed in the first man’s chest; the second in his partner’s shoulder. The tranquilizer tips deployed, and both men went down feet from me. The third man, the one Gallant had blasted, was standing in the middle of the destroyed room, looking around in blank confusion.

I leapt back and held out a hand to signal Gallant to stay away. “Implanted bombs,” I warned him. “These two wouldn’t have charged if they could surrender.”

“Shit,” he said. “What do we do?”

I didn’t answer for a moment. The bombs weren’t going off.

“Proximity,” I said. “I’d guess, at least. Unconsciousness isn’t setting them off, but someone coming within a couple feet of them probably would.

Gallant made a low growling sound. The light which filled the street brightened and flared in response to his fury. “So, what, we just leave them here?”

“We have no choice,” I said. Then I looked up at the third man. “Let him off of your power,” I said. “He might not be implanted. Wait a moment.” I quickly slung Belthronding and replaced Narya with Vilya. “All right, go.”

Gallant made a dismissive gesture with his left hand, Araya burning on his finger. The man’s eyes cleared and he blinked, then glared. His weapon rose, but Belthronding was already up and the point of an arrow was trained on his face.

“Don’t,” I said.

“These two are implanted with Bakuda’s bombs, aren’t they?” Gallant asked the man, nodding at the two men on the ground.

The man spat at Gallant without answering. My teammate’s fists clenched.

“Answer,” he commanded, his voice booming.

“Yeah,” said the guy in a nasal voice.

“Is there a trigger, or are they manually activated?”

“Why should I tell you?”

An arrow whizzed inches from his face. “Because it’s better than the alternative.” I met his eyes.

His face paled. “No,” he said. “Manually activated.”

I studied his face, tracing every line of stress and fear.

“You have an implanted bomb, too?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s also manual?”

“They’re all manual—as far as I know. I swear.”

I allowed Vilya to help me as I searched his face. After a moment, I nodded.

“He’s telling the truth,” I told Gallant. “We’ll need to take them to the reinforced cells in the Rig, though, just in case.”

“Agreed. Vista, call for a pickup,” he said, even as he blasted the guy with another burst of confusion. “We’re bringing in prisoners.”

* * *

 

“How was patrol?” Sophia asked as I came in, her feet up on a table.

“Not bad,” I said. “Captured three ABB guys; Gallant’s giving the report to Piggot now. Used his new powers to bring them in.”

Gallant’s powers, like all the Wards’, had grown with his connection to Araya. Where before his blasts could only cause a very short-term change in a person’s emotions, now he could so saturate a person with the feeling of his choice that they might remain in that headspace for hours on end, unless they were strong enough of will to resist and break free. He had blasted the man with confusion—until he was released or freed himself, the goon could do little more than shake his head and blink.

“Nice,” Sophia said. “With luck, he’ll be able to tell us what Lung’s doing. I mean, unless their plan is literally just ‘bomb city, repeat as necessary.’”

I chuckled, slipping Belthronding off my shoulder and hanging it on the rack beside the elevator. Though the fluorescent lights provided much more illumination than had the starlight outside, the yew of the limbs and the leather of the guard still gleamed black as pitch. Then I slipped off my helmet and shook out my long hair, which had already grown back in the wake of my battle with Lung. “Speaking of new powers, how are yours treating you?”

“Fine,” she said. There was a pause. “Well, no, they’re great. They make my old powers look weak. It’s fantastic.”

“You don’t sound so enthusiastic,” I said, turning back to her.

She turned away. “Cenya is… hard, sometimes. I keep seeing things differently. Seeing people—seeing _myself_ —differently.”

I nodded. “You can’t lie to yourself anymore, Ring-Bearer,” I said gently.

She twitched slightly. “I’ve noticed,” she said, and her voice was faintly strangled, as though she spoke through a lump in her throat.

I sighed and came forward, laying a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. “I told you,” I said. “I intended to help you become the hero you want to be. Did you think it would be easy?”

“I did,” she admitted faintly. “Shows what I know, huh?”

I squeezed gently. “You’re learning,” I comforted. “You’ll get there one day.”

“I—I hope so.”

The elevator opened. I released Sophia and glanced over.

It was Dean. He took off his helmet and stuck it under one arm, running his fingers through his hair to push it out of his eyes. “Piggot tells me the PRT’s interrogating the conscious prisoner now,” he announced. “Missy’s still at the console?”

“Yeah,” Sophia replied. “I’m relieving her in a few minutes.”

“I’ll go hang out with her until then,” Dean said, setting his helmet on the coffee table and crossing the room, entering the console room off of the lounge.

Sophia watched him leave, an odd look on her face.

“Something wrong?” I asked her.

“No,” she said slowly. “No. Nothing.”

I considered her for a moment, then shrugged. “You were patrolling with Sam, right?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “He’s gone to bed.”

“But you’ve still got console duty?”

“With Bakuda rampaging, we’re all pulling double shifts,” she said with a sigh. “At least I got to sleep in. A bit of coffee and I’ll be fine. Do you have another shift tonight?”

“Not out,” I said. “I’m just going to be in here tinkering for a couple of hours.” I was hoping to finish the Black Arrow, which would be a good addition to Belthronding.

Sophia nodded. “Well, if you get bored, feel free to come bother me. Bring coffee.”

I chuckled. “I’ll do that.”

At that moment, there was a blaring from the computer, and the screen flashed yellow—someone other than a Ward was coming down the elevator. Sophia reached down and picked up her mask, while I turned and grabbed my helmet, picking it up from the rack and slipping it back on my head, feeding my hair back out through the hole in the back.

The door opened. It was Miss Militia. I had spoken to her once or twice, but we hadn’t conversed more than passing small talk. What little of her face I could see under her mask looked grim.

“Annatar,” she said. “Where is Gallant?”

“With Vista, at the console,” I said. “What’s up?”

“His prisoner has given us information,” she said. “You were lucky—he was the leader of his little cadre, and was privy to some valuable information. The ABB’s leadership has been invited to a meeting tomorrow—at Somer’s Rock.”

Sophia stood up. “A villain meeting?”

“Yes,” said Miss Militia. “The ABB are apparently invited, but Lung does not intend to go. I assume you can both guess the topic.”

I brought my hands together and cracked my knuckles. “So?” I asked. “What are we doing about it—send a representative?”

“Possibly, if there is a chance of proper cooperation, especially if Bakuda is declared an A-class threat. At the very least, we should send in surveillance,” said Miss Militia. “Armsmaster and Piggot will discuss plans in the morning, however. For now, I need you to call the other Wards on patrol back, and get some sleep. We may be acting tomorrow.”

I glanced at Sophia. She nodded.

“I’ll relieve Vista and do it,” she said. “You get your tinkering done.”

“Thanks.”

As I left for the workshop, I found a faint smile spreading across my face. Anticipation tingled at the tips of my fingers.

With any luck, the campaign against Bakuda would begin tomorrow.


	29. Interlude 4a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @dwood15, @Fenrisulfr, @Technetium43, @frustratedFreeboota, and @Assembler for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

Tattletale took her seat between Circus and Labyrinth in a booth in Somer’s Rock, Faultline leaning against the wall beside their table.

Coil was already there, Bitch in a seat behind and to his right. That wasn’t exactly Coil’s style; he usually came to such meetings alone, as a show of the professional detachment between him and his subordinates. _Brought her here to get to me. And to cement her loyalty._

From the moment Tattletale entered, the girl’s eyes had been locked on her. What little was visible of her face was twisted into a snarl.

_Thinks I’ve betrayed her. Knows Coil was our boss. Has been promised something for assisting him. Support? Something related to her dogs?_

She glanced then at the man himself. Coil’s features were totally obscured under his black bodysuit—but that was little defense.

First, his posture. _Strict, practiced. Disciplined, tight. Too tight. Slightly nervous. Not like Coil. Is not Coil. Body double—fairly accurate one._

Next, his physique. His ribs were showing under his costume, as always, as was his musculature. _Not much more muscular than the real Coil, but more practiced. Has military training. Paid help. Mercenary._

Another glance back at Bitch. She was, if not relaxed, then at least not on edge. _Familiar._ _Believes this to be the authentic Coil._

Well. Wasn’t that interesting? _Could exploit her trust issues to turn her against Coil._

Abruptly Lisa felt—not ashamed, but perhaps a little sad. She and Rachel had never been friends, but they had been teammates, not even a week ago. And now she was trying to figure out how to exploit Rachel’s social weaknesses?

…All the same. Something to bring up with Faultline later.

Tattletale looked over at the other team already present. Kaiser sat at the head of the long table, his posture impeccable, his hands folded neatly on the table in front of him. Nonetheless, she could see the miniscule twitching of his fingers, and of his head as his eyes darted about under his helmet.

_Is on edge. Meeting is high-stakes. More is on the table than Bakuda. Intends to bring secondary issue to the table. Considers ideal outcome very good; worst-case very bad._

Behind him sat several of the Empire—Purity, Krieg, Night, Fog, Fenja, Menja, and Hookwolf.

Purity, next. Her posture was stiff. Her hands _very carefully_ kept unclenched. Her neck was stiff, keeping her face carefully turned just slightly away from her boss. _Hates being here. Hates Kaiser. Is attracted to Kaiser. Is ashamed of being here._

Night and Fog were almost identical. Both held themselves very deliberately, in perfect control of their bodies, and those bodies were positioned around Purity, almost as bodyguards. _Sociopath._ _Is loyal to Purity. Is pleased to be here. Is pleased by what that means, in a larger sense._

Krieg was next, seated on behind Kaiser and to his left. _Is loyal to Kaiser. Is present at Kaiser’s request._ Tattletale didn’t bother probing further—Krieg was a simple man. Fenja and Menja were little different.

Hookwolf was a surprise. His jaw was clenched, and his mask was turned in one direction unwaveringly. _Is angry to see Bitch. Is angry at Coil. Wants to interfere with the meeting. Has Kaiser’s approval to do so._

_That might be interesting._

“Anything?” Faultline asked out of the corner of her mouth.

“Bitch hates me,” Tattletale whispered back. “That’s not the real Coil. Hookwolf is pissed at Bitch for something. He’s going to interfere; Kaiser will let him. Kaiser has something besides Bakuda he wants to talk about.”

Faultline didn’t seem to move, but Tattletale glanced at her. _Understands._ “You want to make any kind of move on Bitch?”

“Not now,” said Tattletale.

“All right.”

At that moment, the Merchants entered. Tattletale’s gaze settled on Skidmark. The man’s gait was very slightly unsteady, but his hands were still—and held into loose fists.

_Suffering neurological decay due to methamphetamine addiction. Knows he is not welcome here. Here to gather intelligence on Empire and ABB movements more than to assist with Bakuda._

Then Squealer. She was even more wobbly than her boss, but made a clear effort to hide it. Her jaw, visible under her visor, worked slightly as if in annoyance.

_Is intoxicated. Suffering decay in multiple organs due to multiple addictions. Does not understand why Merchants are here. Would rather be tinkering._

Mush was last. He was the most stable on his feet, but even he swayed ever so slightly as he walked. His posture was firm and upright, in contrast with both of his teammates.

_Is intoxicated. Suffering neurological and endocrine decay due to various addictions. Does not understand why Merchants are here. Trusts Skidmark implicitly._

_So, Skidmark keeps his lieutenants dosed up, but makes sure to be clear-headed himself? Wonder what the logic is there. Or maybe they’re just less strong-willed than he is._

“Skidmark’s the only sober one,” Tattletale whispered. “He doesn’t want to help with Bakuda; he’s here to spy.”

Faultline nodded imperceptibly.

Kaiser kicked over a chair as Skidmark tried to sit at the table. Tattletale watched the brewing power play with some interest.

“The fuck?” _Expected something like this. Anger isn’t feigned, but is deliberately allowed to show._

_Huh. Skidmark is less of an idiot than I thought. Something to bear in mind._

“You can sit in a booth.” _Calculated power play. Isn’t actually invested in the Merchants one way or the other._

“This is because I’m black, huh?” _Knows it isn’t. Knows Kaiser isn’t genuinely especially racist._ “That’s what you’re all about, yeah?”

“You can sit in a booth because you and your team are pathetic, deranged scum who aren’t worth talking to.” _Is getting genuinely annoyed with the waste of time now._ “The people at this table? I don’t like them, but I’ll listen to them.” _Meaning he wants to size up the competition and find weaknesses._ “That isn’t the case with you.”

At that moment the door opened. Tattletale glanced over. The man wore a black costume, with a red mask and top hat. His teammates followed him in, all of them clad in the same red and black. There was a girl with a sun emblem on her chest, a guy clad in heavy-looking armor, and a… creature of some kind, like a four-armed, hairless gorilla, with six-inch claws tipping each of its fingers and toes. Even it wore the red and black of its team, on a vest, mask, and leggings.

The leader looked more at ease than anyone else in the room. His body was loose and his posture unruffled. _Here by request. Doesn’t care about Bakuda. Doesn’t care about any of the people in this room. His team excepted? Doesn’t care about Brockton Bay._

The girl and the guy both looked more tense in the torso and legs than their leader. Their arms were slightly looser. _Don’t trust their leader. Don’t much like being here. Think it’s necessary?_

The creature was harder. Although its body language approximated that of a human, its body was inhuman and thus the ‘translation’ was a bit garbled. _Case 53?_ The tension in its fingers, ankles, and neck gave some information. _Doesn’t trust leader. Doesn’t like leader. Doesn’t think being here is wise. Doing it for other members of team?_

Lisa tore her gaze away from the newcomers as their leader spoke. “I’ll be taking a chair, I think.”

“The Travelers, yes?” the Coil double said smoothly. Tattletale looked at him. “You’re not local.” _Was aware they were coming. Travelers are here at Coil’s request. Here in Coil’s employ. His replacement for the Undersiders?_

Tattletale couldn’t hold in the slight wince as her head twinged in the very early stages of a thinker headache. That was no surprise—her power saw the most use before the beginning of such a meeting. There was a lot to gain by making sure she knew something about everyone else at the table before they started talking.

“You could call us nomadic. What was happening here was too interesting to pass up, so I decided we’d stop by for a visit.” _Almost all lies. Nomadic is misdirection. Lost?_ “I go by Trickster.”

Faultline glanced at Tattletale.

“Coil,” she mouthed.

Faultline nodded and then pushed off the wall, taking a seat among the other villains.

“Seems we’ve been replaced,” said Circus lowly into Tattletale’s ear. _Slightly bitter, slightly vindictive._

Tattletale scanned the ‘nomadic’ villains briefly. “Not quite,” she whispered. “They don’t have a thinker.”

Circus looked at her pityingly. “I think Coil has thinkering covered,” she said dryly.

Tattletale looked away.

“There are two things I’d like to discuss tonight,” said Kaiser. “First, of course, the ABB.”

“This isn’t sustainable for them. Bakuda is unhinged. Forty-three dead and over a hundred hospitalized in the past week, and no sign of slowing.” Not-Coil shook his head. “I know your northern territory is under threat, Kaiser.” _Deliberately pointing out weakness._

“We have lost some ground,” Kaiser admitted easily. _Knows Coil is trying to set him off balance._ “We will take it back once the situation is controlled—but I think we can all agree that the situation _must_ be controlled?”

Faultline shrugged. “I’m a mercenary,” she said. “I don’t hold territory. It’s really no skin off my back what Bakuda does, so long as she’s not stupid enough to fuck with me and mine.”

“Surely this sort of chaos can’t be good for your business?” Kaiser asked. “After all, if no one can pay you, what business do you have?”

“I didn’t start in Brockton Bay,” said Faultline. “I’ve got no pressing reason to finish here.”

“You would be _willing_ to assist with the situation if you were paid, of course?” not-Coil asked smoothly. He really was a very good impostor.

“Of course,” Faultline said, sounding offended. As she continued, Tattletale blinked at the sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs outside. _Two individuals. One lighter, smaller feet. Woman. The other larger and heavier—a man. Young?_ “I don’t _like_ seeing the city getting blown up, but getting involved in other people’s problems for free is bad for business.”

“In that case,” a voice said as the door opened, “we would like to hire your services.”

Everyone turned.

Miss Militia stepped inside, her eyes darting from mask to mask. _Hates being here. Feels it is necessary. Willing to compromise, willing to negotiate. Considers everyone in this room contemptible._

Behind her, the Ward Aegis slipped in and closed the door. Tattletale glanced at him. Saw the clenched jaw under the mask and the hard light in his eyes. _Annoyed. Doesn’t think he should be here. Despises this place, despises the people here. Willing to go along with it. Unafraid, confident. Isn’t worried about being surrounded. Recently gained new… power? Powers?_

Tattletale glanced at Faultline, who was staring her down. “Careful of Aegis,” she mouthed, moving her lips clearly.

Faultline gave another of her imperceptible nods and then turned back to the heroes.

“This is… unexpected.” Kaiser’s voice was hard, but its pitch was marginally higher than usual. _Covering uncertainty. Did not expect heroes. Directly counters plans of his._

“But not unwelcome. Come, Miss Militia, take a seat,” said not-Coil, beckoning. “We were just getting started.” _Expected this. Knows this counters Kaiser’s plans. Leveraging it to set Kaiser on edge._

“I’ll stand,” retorted Miss Militia, her voice hard, even as she approached the table. _Refusing to associate herself more than necessary._ “I notice the ABB isn’t here?”

Coil’s impostor nodded. “That’s hardly a surprise. It amounts to little more than an endorsement by Lung of Bakuda’s… behavior.”

“It’s a statement of intent,” Kaiser said. “Lung does not intend to negotiate. He has fully committed to this mad scheme.” _Is genuinely disgusted, but is emphasizing it for presentation._

“And the Protectorate intends to answer in kind. That is why, even though Aegis and I would love to arrest every last one of you, we would like to propose a truce.” Miss MIlitia spat the word out like bile. “We cannot bring our full force to bear against the ABB if we are simultaneously forced to patrol every other section of the city.”

“And we cannot bring our full force to bear against them if we are worried about you heroes attacking our assets in transit,” said Kaiser coolly. _Genuinely happy about the offer. Affecting condescension for the benefit of his followers._ “I would consider a truce.”

“As would I. Have you any specific terms?” Coil’s voice was smooth and quick. _Deliberately giving ground to Miss Militia because she unsettles Kaiser._

“Yes,” said the hero. “Your people will commit no large-scale crime until the situation with Bakuda is under control.”

“Agreed,” said Coil instantly. “None of us can spare the resources at this time.”

“No,” Kaiser agreed after a moment. “No, we can’t. Agreed. Any other _conditions_?” _Feels that he’s weakening his position by entertaining Miss Militia’s offer._ A glance at Coil, and the faint stretching of his mask that belied an underlying smile. _Is deliberately forcing Kaiser to compromise to put him on edge._ Damn, this was a _great_ impostor. Lisa was impressed.

“No,” said Miss Militia darkly. “But understand: if we see your people committing crimes on the street, we _will_ still stop them. We just won’t be actively hunting you down. That’s all that changes.” _Feels unsettled by the concession. Is not in support of this plan. Ordered by superiors. Armsmaster?_

“Well, _I_ certainly have better things to do than small-time robberies at the moment,” said Coil dryly. “Bakuda _must_ be stopped. Surely you agree, Kaiser.”

Kaiser didn’t answer for a moment. “Of course,” he said at length. _Feels weakened by conceding to Coil._ “In the same vein, however—if you send your heroes into my territory, or pursue the Empire’s activities while Bakuda is being handled, expect us to respond… in kind.”

Miss Militia chuckled dryly. “So, a ‘truce’ in the sense that no one wants to _start_ an altercation?” she asked dryly. “We can do that.” _Is pleased. Feels freed by the specific terms of the ‘truce’?_

“Good,” said Coil. “Now, you are all aware of Bakuda’s… unusual method of recruitment?”

“Implanted bombs,” said Miss Militia. “Yes. We recently retrieved further intelligence on the topic. Bakuda has been implanting even established ABB members with bombs. They are manually activated, but we do not know the range at which she can arm them.”

“Do you have any information on their blast radius or other effects?” Kaiser asked. “Are they traditional explosives, or is she implanting some of her more _exotic_ creations?”

“We have no information on that.”

“I do,” said Faultline coolly, with a wink at Tattletale. “A thinker in my employ believes Bakuda _uses_ specialized explosives for implantation, but is unlikely to use any with a larger blast radius than a standard high explosive grenade. She believes such bombs would be more useful to Bakuda in other ways.”

“Ah,” said Coil, chuckling. “I see you are getting some mileage out of Tattletale.”

“What can I say?” Tattletale called from the booth. “Faultline gives _great_ dental.”

Bitch growled from her spot beside Coil, but otherwise did not move. Her eyes had not moved from Tattletale for more than a few moments throughout the entire meeting.

“Speaking of the _former_ Undersiders,” said one of the Empire capes—Hookwolf. “Your lapdog’s been causing me trouble, Coil. She’s been fucking with my business.”

“Yes,” said Coil dryly. “A dogfighting ring. Quite stupid of you to have a dogfighting ring in territory patrolled by a dog master, wouldn’t you agree?” _Knew this was coming. Prepared for it. Leveraging Hookwolf’s issue into a weakening of Kaiser’s position._

“Doesn’t matter what it was!” said Hookwolf furiously. “She fucked with my stuff, got away free, and now you have the _gall_ to ask us for a truce—”

“Do you _really_ think your petty, ill-conceived business has any bearing on our alliance?” Coil asked. “Do you really think your dogfights are more important than the rest of Kaiser’s collective assets in the face of Bakuda?” Coil shook his head in fake amusement. “Kaiser, you _really_ should control your men. Or at least teach them a sense of perspective.”

“You—”

“Hookwolf,” said Kaiser sharply. “Enough. Your dogfights can be dealt with another time.” _Furious. Multiple targets. Coil—weakening his position, trivializing Hookwolf’s issue. Hookwolf—pushing when the issue was deflected. Himself—allowing Hookwolf to bring the issue up._

Hookwolf gritted his teeth but didn’t answer.

“If we’ve stooped to talking about which crimes are worth more to the criminals, then I think my presence is no longer required. We will be launching an offensive into ABB territory tonight,” Miss Militia told the villains. “If you wish to assist, we’d appreciate advance notice. I’m sure you understand.”

“Naturally,” said Coil. “I will see if I can rally any of my men to assist you. Thank you for your time, Miss Militia.”

Miss Militia nodded sharply. “Faultline,” she said. “We will be contacting you shortly regarding payment. Expect a call sometime today.”

“Looking forward to it,” Faultline replied. “Always nice to wear a white hat for a change.” _Sincere, but affecting disdain._ Tattletale almost laughed.

Miss Militia snorted and turned on her heel. “Let’s go, Aegis,” she said.

The Ward followed the Protectorate cape out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

“Well, unless anyone has further issues to bring up, I think I shall follow them out.” Kaiser stood easily, carefully walking the line between too fast and too slow. “The major issues appear to have been dealt with.” _Is lying. Wanted to bring up another issue. Can’t now. Something to do with the heroes?_

“If you’re sure there’s nothing else you’d like to discuss,” Coil replied with a nod. _Knows what Kaiser wanted to talk about. Feels accomplished that he can’t. The whole conversation, putting Kaiser off-balance—all to keep him from reaching this topic now._

Tattletale narrowed her eyes.

“What’s up?” Circus asked.

“Kaiser wanted to talk about something else,” she said. “And Coil didn’t want to let him. Something to do with the heroes.”

“Any idea what it was?”

Tattletale closed her eyes. “Not yet,” she said.

_Aegis—new powers. Kaiser—concerned about something to do with heroes. Coil—doesn’t want it brought up. Wants to avoid putting anyone on alert. Can leverage it._

_Source of Aegis’ new powers. Annatar._

Lisa sighed.

“Got something?” asked Alex.

“Coil being interested in a parahuman is a good sign that they’re worth paying attention to, right?”

“I’d say, yeah.”

“Fuck.”


	30. Sheen 4.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @dwood15, @Technetium43, @frustratedFreeboota, and @Assembler for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

Wards HQ was empty, besides me. On one wall, the TV was playing an ongoing newscast, covering the ongoing bombing spree. I sat on the right-hand side of the leather, three-seat couch across from it, one elbow propped up on the armrest. My water bottle, half full, sat on the coffee table by my left arm.

_“The bombings have slowed in recent days, but still continue largely unimpeded. Brockton Bay’s hospitals report—”_

My eyes were closed, my head resting on my fists as I let the anchor’s voice wash over me.

The elevator opened. I glanced over without raising my head from its perch on my hands. Carlos stepped out, fully done up in mask and costume.

“How’d it go?” I asked.

He let out a sigh. “Villains,” he said, ripping off his mask. “Where are the others?”

“Chris is in the workshop, Sophia’s taking a nap, Dean and Sam are both out somewhere, and I think Missy’s at home.”

_“—night, the offices of the local software firm BayMobile were struck by a tinkertech explosive, which—”_

“All right.” Carlos took a seat on the couch beside me and stretching his arms out to his sides, resting on the sofa’s upper cushions. “We don’t need to assemble yet, but we’ll need them all to come in tonight.”

“We’re attacking?”

“Yes—in conjunction with the Protectorate and Faultline’s Crew. We’re going for Über and Leet’s base while Faultline and the Protectorate make a two-pronged attack onto ABB territory. They’re going to be looking for Bakuda while we hold off her support.”

I grimaced. “I’d hoped to fight her.”

“We all did,” Carlos said, a wry smile crossing his features. “The important part is that she gets taken down.”

_“—no injuries, as the building was empty; however, employees report that overtime is common at the firm and—”_

“We can’t leave the Rig and PRT HQ undefended this time,” I said. “What if she decides to hit us at home while we’re out looking for her?”

“I know. That’s why we’re keeping at least two capes at both locations. One Protectorate hero on console at the Rig, one Ward on console here, and at least one hero to support each.”

“Have you decided who’s staying here?”

Carlos shook his head. “I was hoping you had ideas. We need a cape who can hold their own, but who won’t be as useful as the others storming a tinker’s workshop.”

I sighed.

“What?”

“Think about it. Sophia’s no good on defense, so she’s out. Sam’s best on support; he’s not a powerhouse on his own. Same with Dennis, Dean, and Chris. And the assault team will need Vista.”

“So, you or me.”

_“—police investigation of the tinker responsible suggests that the agency responsible is the local gang know as the ABB, or Azn—”_

I nodded. “And they’ll need you in the field,” I said. “They need a leader.”

“You can lead. They—we—all trust you.”

I shook my head. “I can get them to follow, yeah,” I said. “But I don’t know my way around a battlefield yet. It’s just a matter of experience, but you saw how the fight at the bank went. Piggot tore me apart after that.”

“Yeah, but I also saw how the fight on the Rig went,” Carlos argued. “You know what you’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing when it’s just me. I know how I work, I know how to use my skills and tools effectively.” I shrugged. “Good for me, but I can’t lead a team into battle. Not yet—I’ll get there. For now, though, we need someone who already knows what they’re doing.”

_“—Protectorate had apprehended the villain ‘Lung’ earlier this month, but last Sunday he—”_

Carlos looked into his hands as the TV droned in the background. The golden light of Laureya shone from his finger and reflected into his eyes. After a lengthy pause, he said, “You’re right. I don’t like having to attack their base without you, but you’re right.”

“I’ll still be there,” I said, nudging him. “I’ll be on console, after all.”

_“—the heroes can’t keep prisoners in check, how can we—”_

In a burst of motion Carlos stood up and slapped the table, dislodging my water bottle and sending it rolling onto the floor.

“Fuck this guy,” he muttered, vaulting over the coffee table and turning off the TV manually.

“I had the remote,” I offered, holding it up from where it had sat nestled against my side.

He looked over at me, his jaw clenched. After a moment, he sighed, tension bleeding out of his frame. “I’m just….” He stopped, shook his head. “I’m so tired of this. We’re _trying_. Can’t they see we’re _trying_?”

I shrugged and shook my head as I said, “They really don’t get it.”

“No. No, they don’t. You’d really think I’d be used to it by now.”

“Why should you be? The people you’re trying to protect are too busy _questioning_ you to notice how much you’re doing for them. That’s grounds to get annoyed, I’d say.”

Carlos turned away, resting his head against the wall. “It’s grounds,” he agreed, his voice slightly muffled. “It’s definitely grounds. But getting annoyed there? That’s how half the heroes-turned-villains get started.”

“You’re not a villain, Carlos. You’re not even close.”

“I know.” He shoved off the wall and turned back to face me. “Because I don’t _allow_ myself to ask questions like those. I don’t allow myself to get annoyed with them. I’m sorry I broke down like this _._ The villains just… got to me.”

I shook my head. “You’re a hero because you care about the people who can’t protect themselves,” I said. “No matter how annoyed with them you get, you won’t stop caring.”

“You don’t know that.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I gave you Laureya, didn’t I?”

He glanced away.

I continued when he didn’t answer. “The Ring of the Sun. I told you, it’s more than just a tool. It’s a part of you now.”

“I know. It’s a responsibility.”

“And the means to _fulfill_ that responsibility.”

“Yeah. I—”

His phone chimed _—_ a text. He pulled it out of his pocket, checked it. “Armsmaster wants me at the Rig. We’re going to plan the operation tonight.”

“Good luck.”

He smiled at me—a frail, wan expression, wavering even as it appeared and vanishing quickly. “I’ll tell them you’ll take console,” he said. “Can you get the others to meet at the Rig in about an hour and a half?”

“Definitely.”

“Thanks. See you there.”

* * *

 

The setting sun cast a flickering light over the uneven surface of the ocean. It shone in through the east-facing window, glittering like a hoard of gold. A faint band of pale cloud hung just above the horizon, out to sea, and beneath their shadow the night had already fallen. The sky was deepening into darker blues and purples in the east, even as light still shone on the water from the west. The long shadow of the Rig cast an imposing silhouette upon the waves, its edges shuddering slightly on the shifting water.

On the carpet behind my seat, Vista paced back and forth, her eyes alternating between the ocean and the map of the Bay on the wall. Clockblocker sat on my left, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. Sophia was on my right, polishing one of her crossbows. Gallant drummed his fingers on the polished wood of the long table, and Browbeat sat perfectly still beside him.

Kid Win was finishing a project in the workshop—he’d asked us to fill him in later.

“Where _are_ they?” Vista exploded, her voice cutting into the evening silence like a knife. “The clock’s ticking!”

“Planning, I’d assume,” said Sophia, her voice a deadpan monotone.

“Well, what’s taking them so long?”

“Vista, it’s all right. Come sit down,” Gallant said. “We’ve got time.”

Vista took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Yeah,” she sighed. “Yeah, I—sorry. I’m just—pent up, you know?”

“We all get it,” he said as she came and sat beside him. “We all feel the same.”

“Waiting for a fight is the _worst_ ,” Sophia chimed in.

Vista grunted an agreement and leaned back against her chair, eyes closing. Quiet fell across the table.

“Oh, hey, I’ve got one,” said Clockblocker, suddenly breaking the silence.

“One what?” I asked after a moment. The fact that no one else spoke up should probably have warned me.

“What do aliens do before a fight?” he asked.

“What?”

“Planet.”

There was a round of groans, and Vista’s forehead met the table with a resounding _clunk_. My head turned slowly to stare at him. He stared back, his face hidden behind his mask.

“No,” I said. “Bad Clockblocker.”

“Plenty more where that came from.” He was laughing as he spoke.

“Please no.”

At that moment, the door across from us opened. Armsmaster led the way in, followed by Aegis. In a moment, all of us were around the table—the seven present Wards and the seven Protectorate heroes.

Armsmaster spoke first. “Wards, Protectorate,” he said, “Aegis, Miss Militia and I have developed a plan in conjunction with the Director. Miss Militia?”

Miss Militia cleared her throat. “The Protectorate will be pushing an offensive into the ABB’s territory proper,” she said. “We will be seeking to bait Lung into a direct fight so that Armsmaster can defeat him using his tinkertech tranquilizers once again. Faultline’s Crew will be pushing in from the other direction in a pincer maneuver.”

Aegis took over from there. “Meanwhile, the Wards will be headed for Über and Leet’s base. With help from Faultline, we’ve isolated its location. They’re in a warehouse near the shoreline just north of downtown, between ABB and Empire territories. It’s a tinker’s base, so expect resistance and fortifications.”

“Of course, as we saw last Sunday,” Armsmaster said dryly, “we can’t afford to leave _our_ bases undefended. That’s why one Ward and one Protectorate member will be staying behind at each location—here and PRT Headquarters.

“Dauntless will be staying here, on Protectorate console. In support, he’ll have Browbeat.”

Browbeat nodded once, his face impassive under his mask. By the furrowing of his brow, Dauntless seemed slightly disappointed, but he gave no complaint.

“At PRT Headquarters, Annatar will be taking Wards console—”

“Wait, what?” Sophia asked sharply. “You’re benching _Annatar_?”

“It’s fine, Shadow Stalker,” I soothed. “I knew about this.”

“You’re one of our strongest capes!” she argued. “We need you out there!”

“We _need_ someone defending the home base.” Aegis stared Sophia down, and I saw the telltale corona of Laureya infusing him as he channeled his ability to control his subordinates. “Annatar volunteered, Shadow Stalker. She’ll be coordinating us on console. We needed someone who could hold their own to take the defense.”

“I could take the console,” Sophia said. “I—”

“ _Enough_ , Stalker,” Armsmaster growled. “Annatar will be on Wards console, with Triumph supporting her at PRT HQ. That is final.”

Aegis stood up. “And with that, we’d better get back there,” he said. “We need to get ready. Kid Win’s still working on something?”

I nodded. “He’s already at PRT HQ,” I said. “I think he’s testing something to help with the fight tonight.”

“Good. We’ll go meet him there. Armsmaster, permission to take the Wards back to base?”

“Granted. Keep in radio contact, and good luck, Aegis.”

Aegis nodded and led us out of the room. Once the door shut behind us, he rounded on Sophia.

“What was that?” he growled.

“We _need_ Annatar in the field,” she barked—quietly, to avoid being heard by the heroes on the other side of the door. “I can’t do half as good an infiltration on my own, and she can take a hit better than any of us besides you. What the _hell_ are you benching her for?”

“For exactly that reason,” I said. “I’ve got the most well-rounded powerset of us, Shadow Stalker. If Bakuda or Lung decides to attack base because of what we’re doing, I can hold them off longer than any other one of us.

“That’s what _Triumph_ is there for,” grumbled Sophia.

“Yes,” I agreed. “But two capes are better than one.”

Aegis shook his head. “All this is beside the point,” he said. “Shadow Stalker, you _can’t_ undermine my authority like that in the middle of a meeting with the Protectorate.”

Sophia gritted her teeth. For a moment, they glared at each other before Aegis sighed and turned away. “Let’s get to base,” he said.

As we followed him out, I heard Sophia mutter a reply, almost inaudible. “I’m not here for _you_.”

I glanced at her, but she avoided my gaze, and after a moment, I looked away again.

* * *

 

“Okay, so I’ve been working on this for the past week or so,” said Kid Win, fiddling with the communications console and hooking up several wires to it. “I started rushing it when I heard we’d be attacking tonight. Only just managed to get it through testing.”

“What is it?” I asked, studying the console. Where before it had been a desk with a few screens, microphones, dials and switches on it, now it was augmented by eight screens which were attached to the wall behind it, rising two up and four across. Each was wired into the back of the console, connected to a black box I was sure hadn’t been there before.

Kid Win tossed me something—I caught it instinctively and brought it up to my eyes. It was a small camera, or so it seemed, attached to an adhesive panel.

“Each of us attaches one of those to our masks,” he said, pointing at the camera he’d fitted onto his visor, “and the feed gets broadcast back here. It’s encrypted using one of Dragon’s codes, so it should be pretty damn secure.”

“So I’ll have visual as well as an audio channel?”

“Exactly! Just, uh, be careful not to get too caught up in it, all right? Don’t want to have any crossed wires between you and Aegis. Contradictory orders, that sort of thing.”

“Of course. Thanks, Kid Win.”

He grinned at me, shaking his head. “Thank _you_. I’d never have been able to finish _one_ tinkertech camera before Mirilya. Now I’ve made _eight_ of them. I’ve built more in the past week than I did in two months before.”

I smiled. “I’m glad it’s treating you well,” I said. “Be careful that it doesn’t become a crutch, though. You hadn’t found your specialty before, right?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t even _need_ it, anymore! I can—”

“Your specialty is what makes your tinkertech different from just very advanced ordinary technology,” I cut him off. “Mirilya is a painkiller, Chris—it’s blocking symptoms, but you’ll never fully come into your own unless you force yourself to push past that and find your specialty. A Ring of Power is a wonderful tool, but it’s no substitute for real knowledge and growth.”

He looked away. “Right.” There was a pause.

“All the same, thank you for this,” I said, sitting down in the console chair. “I’ve been worried all day about sitting here with no ability to really tell what’s going on while you guys are out on the battlefield.”

Kid Win grimaced. “It’s not fun, I can tell you that,” he said. “Anyway, this screen is mine.” He tapped the power button on one of the eight new monitors and the screen lit up, displaying my face hidden under the bright silver of my helmet, dark hair cascading behind me.

Kid Win pointed out the other seven screens, ending with mine. “I’ll go pass these out,” he said.

“I’ll come with you,” I said, standing up. “I’ll see you all off before you leave.”


	31. Sheen 4.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @dwood15, @Technetium43, @frustratedFreeboota, and @Assembler for betareading.
> 
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

 

My eyes darted from one screen to another. I’d turned off both mine and Browbeat’s to avoid being distracted, and so my six-angled view of the skyline of Brockton Bay was uninterrupted except by empty black. Sophia was in an alleyway, making a final check of both of her crossbows. Aegis was in the air, his head turning slowly as he surveyed the area. Kid Win was in an alcove across the street from Shadow Stalker, checking the settings on his hoverboard. Clockblocker, Vista, and Gallant were all huddled together on an unlit street corner, about two blocks from the target.

“Have you located the AO?” I asked Aegis.

His head turned, pointing my camera at a large warehouse with a sloped, corrugated metal roof and concrete walls. It stood out, not because it was a particularly imposing or interesting exterior, but because it was sturdier than any of the others around it.

 _“I think so,”_ he said. _“Can’t be sure without going inside.”_

“Right,” I agreed. “Kid Win, stay low and dark; go one block to your left. There’s a single concrete building, dominates the block. I need you to scan the walls, figure out if there’s an electric current running through them anywhere.”

 _“Got it.”_ Kid Win mounted his hoverboard and sped down the street, carefully staying low to the ground and keeping slow enough that the noise of his repulsors remained at a low whine, barely audible even to my Nenya-enhanced hearing. When he reached the building he pulled out a tool. The ranged voltmeter had been another recent addition to Kid Win’s arsenal, built with the help of Armsmaster’s notes on Sophia’s tinkertech lenses.

 _“Think you can get me the upgrade into the lenses soon?”_ Sophia asked. Her own version of the voltmeter functioned similarly, I knew, but could not see currents behind or inside walls.

 _“I can’t miniaturize the voltmeter enough to fit into your mask,”_ Kid Win replied. _“I’ll talk to Armsmaster about it as soon as I have a chance.”_

He moved it from side to side, about two feet from the surface of the wall, watching the display. _“Low current,”_ he reported. _“Consistent with in-wall electrical conduits. Looking for a weak point.”_

“Carry on.” I turned to Sophia’s screen. “Shadow Stalker, follow him; do _not_ phase in until I give the word.”

_“On it.”_

“Clockblocker, take your squad towards the AO; stay out of sight.”

Vista and Gallant began following Clockblocker down the street as he led them by a shadowed route, carefully avoiding the golden lights of streetlamps.

“Aegis, drop towards the roof of the building—the walls are thick, but you might be able to hear something through the roof.”

He sank towards the warehouse and slowly rotated himself so he was hovering belly-down, one ear lowered toward the corrugated plating of the roof. After a moment, I saw his hand go to his higher ear. _“I’ve got nothing,”_ he whispered. _“No sound.”_

 _“That means nothing,”_ said Kid Win. _“Could be anything from insulation to tinkertech silencing.”_ He withdrew his voltmeter and return it to the compartment at his hip. “ _I’ve found a weak point.”_

“Good. Rise up— _out of sight_ of windows—and join Aegis above the roof. Shadow Stalker, on my mark, phase into the building.”

I saw the wall begin to pass beneath Kid Win’s view as he slowly gained altitude. Sophia positioned her back against the point on the concrete wall he had indicated.

Meanwhile, Clockblocker’s team had gained visibility of the warehouse. They were now huddled in the shadow of a building, ducking around it as they looked at the main doors of the warehouse across the street and down the road half a block. “We don’t have a safe route any further,” Clockblocker reported. It was true—if they left the alley, they’d be in view of the warehouse’s main windows. But there was an alternative.

“Vista, tunnel your group to a position directly in front of the doors.” The windows were almost all second story, and they were all set into the back of the thick concrete walls. The warehouse’s occupants—if there were any, if we had the right place—would have no line-of-sight to the doors themselves.

Vista obligingly gave the three Wards a spatial warp, landing them within two feet of the warehouse’s door.

“Any sound?” I asked.

 _“None,”_ reported Gallant in a whisper.

“Can you sense anyone?”

_“I need visual to sense emotions, Annatar. I can see the emotions of hidden people, maybe even invisible people, but not people I can’t see at all.”_

“Right, sorry. Standby. Aegis, are we clear for insertion?”

_“We’re ready up here.”_

“Good. All Wards, prepare to engage if Shadow Stalker is detected. Shadow Stalker, you have permission to enter the building.”

 _“Finally,”_ muttered Sophia, and phased into shadow—my view of her went dark, the camera unable to broadcast from inside her shadow state.

I bit my lip, holding my breath. _Please be okay. Don’t let Leet have a countermeasure._

It was about twenty seconds before Sophia’s screen lit up again. It felt like an hour. She was huddled against a low wall, looking at the concrete of the interior wall. That concrete was not so unadorned on this side—it was painted a slightly garish green, and a poster was plastered on it to her left—a man in a green tunic, carrying a blue sword amid a forest.

Her hand came up to her ear. _“I think we found them,”_ she murmured. _“I can hear them.”_

She held her finger on the earpiece for a moment—and, yes, I heard the sound of fairly loud music coming from somewhere in the building, punctuated by a frustrated shout, the specific words inaudible.

“Okay,” I said. “Any defenses?”

 _“At least one of them is on the upper floor,”_ she said. _“From what I saw before I took cover, this floor is Leet’s workshop. There’s a big turret in the center—I think it’s automated. There’s also a robot or something in one corner—an automaton.”_

“Any obvious weaponry on it?”

_“No, but some around it. Tinkertech. A sword, a gun, some other things I didn’t recognize. The robot’s in a case—off, I think.”_

“Good. With luck, it won’t be active. How’s the lighting?”

_“Too damn high. Fluorescents all over the ceiling.”_

“See a light switch?”

_“Just inside the front door.”_

I smiled. “Any traps?”

_“Yeah. Something hooked to the hinge. Probably just an alarm, but…”_

“…But we don’t know, and even that’s a problem.” I closed my eyes for a moment, thinking.

 _“Shadow Stalker,”_ Aegis interjected. _“You’re the one in there. Think you can get to another vantage point?”_

_“I can try.”_

“I can’t see or hear you when you’re shifted,” I told her. “How long do you think it’ll take you to get to that position?”

_“Ten seconds, max.”_

“Can you give me a counter—click your tongue or something, so I know what you mean by a second?”

Sophia made a low clicking sound into the microphone, a slow counter. I committed the timing to memory. “Clockblocker, Aegis,” I said. “If Shadow Stalker doesn’t revert within about twelve seconds I’m going to call you in. Be ready. Shadow Stalker, on your mark.”

I heard her inhale once and let the air out slowly. Then her camera went dark.

_One, two, three, four…_

On _nine_ , Sophia’s screen lit up again and my heart leapt into my mouth. Her back was against the wall, her legs splayed out before her. A fluorescent light shone upon her from directly above, and the turret in the center of the room which she’d mentioned was pointed squarely in her direction. The sides of its barrel were glowing blue and sparking like a Tesla coil.

_An electric weapon._

“Wards, move in!” I said. “Shadow Stalker is hit!”

At that point, a great deal of things happened at once.

On the roof, Aegis flew up a few feet and threw himself bodily down into the metal of the roof. It splintered, tearing around him and leaving a hole. Kid Win’s hoverboard was too wide to sink into it, so he jumped off of it, held it tight to his body, and dropped after Aegis. The flying brute caught him as he did and set him down on the creaky wooden planks of the upper floor.

Meanwhile, Clockblocker and Gallant each grabbed one of the handles of the warehouse’s double doors and tried them.

 _“Locked,”_ said Clockblocker through gritted teeth.

Gallant didn’t waste words, taking a step away and throwing his power-armored bulk into the barricade. The doors didn’t budge.

 _“Boys,”_ Vista muttered. In a moment, instead of the door, the three of them were in front of a widened window. “Here.”

As one, the three of them burst through the glass.

Meanwhile, Sophia had pushed herself forward onto her hands and knees and rolled to her left. A burst of light signaled the firing of the turret, and as she came up I saw a blackened scorch mark on the concrete floor where she’d been lying.

Aegis and Kid Win were upstairs at the walled end of a narrow corridor, with doors lining both walls. Sophia was under fire and out of cover, right in the middle of an open, well-lit room. Clockblocker, Gallant, and Vista were just inside the main doors and had a clear line of sight, both at the turret and at Sophia. At least one of the two villains was upstairs, likely in one of the rooms off of the hallway, but the other’s position was unknown.

“Vista, help Shadow Stalker get to cover. Aegis, Kid Win, find Über and Leet,” I said, my words coming out slightly jumbled as they tripped over one another in my rush to get them out. “One of them’s upstairs at least. Clockblocker, disable that turret. Gallant, see if you can find any sign of the villains.”

Even as I spoke, Vista was already twisting the air in front of the turret’s barrel in a visible warping, bending its firing line away from Sophia, who was scrambling to her feet. Kid Win hopped onto his hoverboard and shot down the hallway even as Aegis shoved open the nearest door and looked into the dark room.

 _“I’m going to check each room,”_ our team leader said. _“Kid Win, go to the end of the hall and work your way back here.”_

_“Got it.”_

Clockblocker was charging directly for the turret. It rotated to face him. _“Vista!”_ he hollered, diving for it.

I watched through his screen as the turret’s barrel twisted like an Escher painting, the burst of bluish lightning arcing out and fizzling against the wall. An instant later, Clockblocker’s hand landed on the machine’s chassis.

 _“Don’t know how long that’ll hold,”_ he panted. _“I can just stay here and freeze it again if—”_

He was cut off by a burst of light and an impact that sent him flying. My eyes darted to the other screens. The automaton Sophia had mentioned had left its case, and in its hand was what looked like an assault rifle, painted white—if assault rifles shot a steady stream of glowing blue orbs.

The robot itself was a gray thing, humanoid in shape and featureless in face, save for two eyes which were lit from within. Visible pistons and gyroscopes whirred within its mechanical torso and limbs as it turned from Clockblocker, aiming at Gallant, who was charging at it. It raised its weapon…

...and froze. I saw the light in its eyes flicker and die. Something seemed to give in the mechanisms of its chest.

“Get back, Gallant!” I ordered.

He obeyed without hesitation, skidding to a stop and throwing himself backwards. Not a moment too soon—the automaton sparked once from deep within its chest, and exploded in a burst of light and fire.

_“Threepio, no!”_

The voice came through multiple microphones. All four of the Wards downstairs turned to the source.

Leet stood in the doorway of a side room—a kitchen, by the fridge still open behind him. The lightbulb inside it was the only source of light in that room, and his scrawny form stood framed against the shadows behind him. He was barely dressed—in the sense that he wore absurd, oversized goggles with tinted lenses, and other than that only a t-shirt and cargo shorts.

The t-shirt was a graphic. I detachedly noticed that against the red of the fabric, its black lettering read _ENDBRINGER VICTIMS BITCH TOO MUCH_. All caps.

I might’ve shuddered a little bit, I don’t know.

 _“Leet,”_ said Gallant, his voice steady, loud, and clear. _“You are under arrest. Surrender, and we don’t have to go any further.”_

 _“Fuck you!”_ Leet growled, his fists clenching. _“You think you can just come in here and fuck with my workshop, and I won’t even fight back? I—”_

He stopped with a faint choking noise. He blinked, took a single step forward, and keeled over. From behind him, Sophia withdrew her tranquilizer bolt from his neck as he fell.

She looked at our teammates. _“What?”_ she asked, her form still coalescing after teleporting into the shadows behind him. _“He wasn’t surrendering.”_

Her voice was still tight with pain, but before I could do more than take note there was a crash from upstairs. My eyes darted to Aegis’ screen—shit, I’d neglected him and Kid Win.

Aegis’s face was against the wall, one arm visible out of the corner of his eye where it was bent into an armbar.

 _“Get_ out _of my base,”_ growled Über, and shifted his grip before throwing Aegis out a window.

“Upstairs, everyone,” I said. “Aegis just found Über.”


	32. Interlude 4b:Victoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @dwood15, @Technetium43, @frustratedFreeboota, and @Assembler for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

Vicky sat with her legs crossed, one over the other, idly worrying her lower lip with her teeth as her eyes traversed the pages of her book. It was a textbook—a long, rambling thing for Parahumans 103.

 _Why am I taking Parahumans 103?_ she wondered, raising her eyes to the ceiling some two feet away from her face. _It’s a bit like, I don’t know, a tinker taking an engineering course, isn’t it?_

She slowly turned over in the air so that she was belly-down and held the book in one hand while the other ran through her hair, idly combing out the tangles that came with turning around in midair.

Vicky loved her hair, she really did—thick, luxurious blonde curls that surrounded and framed her face in a bright halo. Almost any other head of hair wouldn’t have been able to pull off a tiara, but the gold-on-gold worked better than it had any right to. Nonetheless, thick, curly hair tangled, and slowly rotating in three dimensions was not ideal for maintaining a careful hairstyle.

She closed her eyes tightly and looked back at the book, trying to focus.

 _It is believed that the particular powers which manifest following a trigger event are tailored to that trigger event in some way. Certain patterns have been observed. In_ Brutality and Brutes _, Dr. Osmond Blake explores a statistical link between brute powers and triggers involving physical injury or…_

Vicky blinked once, languidly. _It’s my fourth time reading that passage, isn’t it?_

She started laughing. The textbook dropped out of her fingers and landed on her bed, bouncing.

She slowly dropped, picked it up, and tossed it across the room onto her desk, where it landed with a hollow _thump_. Still laughing, she cut her power and dropped the remaining foot and a half to her bed, landing on her side. The bed creaked under her sudden weight and for a moment she bounced up and down before the mattress settled under her.

She sighed, the mirth fading, and stared up at her ceiling. The light fixture—a plain, round thing with an internal incandescent bulb—showed every faint crack in the plaster in sharp relief.

_I should talk to Mom about redoing the paint._

There was a knock on her door. “Come in!” she called, and when it opened she grinned. “Hey, Ames.”

One of Amy’s brows were raised and she looked Vicky up and down. “I’d ask if you usually go to bed in costume, but I know you don’t. What’s up?”

Vicky made a ‘pfft’ sound and looked back up at the ceiling. “A villain’s out there rampaging with bombs, and I’m stuck here doing _homework_.” She rolled her eyes. “Mom won’t let me go out unless there’s a crisis, but if there _is_ a crisis, I don’t wanna wait to change. I am _gone_.”

Amy chuckled. “Bored?”

“ _Suuuuper_ bored.” Vicky glanced over at her sister. “What about you?”

Amy shrugged. “Just reading. Heard you laughing. What was that about?”

“Oh, nothing. I just—” Vicky giggled again. “I was trying to study. Can’t do it.”

“And that’s funny?”

“Once you’ve read the same sentence four times without getting it, yeah. A little bit.”

Amy shrugged and came forward, sitting down at the foot of the bed. She reminded Vicky of a bird, perched on a branch, ready to fly at a moment’s notice.

“What were you studying?”

“Parahuman studies. Amy, why am I taking that class?”

Amy chuckled. “Don’t ask me. Having second thoughts?”

“ _So_ many second thoughts.” Vicky turned away from her sister and looked out her bedroom window. She frowned. “Hey, Ames?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have your phone?”

“Yeah, why?”

Vicky’s brow creased. “Can you look up whether that bitch lit the city on fire recently?”

Amy shifted behind her, stood up, and looked out the window too. “Oh,” she said succinctly. “Yeah, I’ll check.”

She started fumbling in her pocket even as Vicky swung her legs over the other side of the bed and stood up, approaching the window and looking out. The fire was bright, orange and red. She couldn’t see the flames themselves, of course—it wasn’t that close—but the glow cast light against the tall buildings and sent smoke and haze into the sky, glowing.

“Oh, fuck.”

“What is it?” Vicky asked quickly.

“…I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Good news first. I like good news.”

“It’s not Bakuda.”

Vicky’s brows rose. “Hey, that _is_ good news.”

“It’s Lung.”

Vicky’s brows fell again. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

There was a moment’s silence.

“Okay!” said Vicky brightly. “Sorry to dash, Ames, but I gotta run!”

“No,” said Amy, her voice monotone and deadpan. “You are _not_ rushing off to fight Lung.”

“Amy is quite right.”

Vicky turned. There was her mother, standing in the doorway, in full costume. The orange crossed blades on the white made Vicky’s fingers itch slightly, as they always did. _Time for action._

“I just got off the phone with your aunt,” she said. “Who was contacted by Director Piggot. The Protectorate has engaged Lung while the Wards attack Über and Leet. Vicky, you and your cousins are going to join the Wards. Your aunt and uncle and I are going to join the Protectorate. Understood?”

“What about Dad?” Amy asked.

Brandish looked away. “He’ll be coming with me,” she said. “If he comes at all.”

Vicky grimaced. “One of his bad days? Surely a little cape fight would make him feel better? Can’t he pull himself together for this?”

“That,” Amy said, her voice frosty, “is not how depression works, Vicky.”

Vicky gritted her teeth and looked back out the window. “So what’s the plan?”

“Laserdream and Shielder are coming here now,” said Brandish. “Laserdream is in contact with the PRT and will lead you to the Wards. You’re to follow her lead, understand?”

“Yes, Mom.”

Brandish smiled under her mask. “Good. Good luck, Vicky, and be careful.”

Vicky leapt forward with a power-assisted lunge and embraced her mother. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m invincible. _You_ be careful—you’re all squishy.”

Brandish laughed and hugged her back. “Go,” she ordered. “Your cousins will be on the front porch any minute.”

Vicky pulled away from her mother and gave her sister a jaunty wave over her shoulder. “Later, Sis,” she said.

Amy waved back. “Go beat up bad guys.” Vicky could practically hear the unspoken, _but not too badly._

* * *

 

Vicky reached the warehouse just in time to see a body in a red suit tumbling through the air, shards of broken glass scattering around it. The thickset form slowed on the way down, the glass passing it up as its flight kicked in.

A little thing like _flight_ wasn’t going to stop Vicky from seizing this one by the horns, though. She caught Aegis’ bulky form halfway down to the ground. He blinked brown eyes at her for a moment.

“Just dropping for a visit?” she asked.

“…You know I can fly, yes?”

Vicky shrugged. “Hey, not every day beefcakes drop out of the sky.”

Aegis laughed—a faint, incredulous sound. “Fair enough.” He extricated himself from her arms and put a finger to his ear. “Annatar, Glory Girl is on site,” he said, picking shards of broken glass out of his costume and flesh.

“Laserdream and Shielder are just behind me,” Vicky said.

Aegis nodded. “You heard that?” A pause. “Right. I’ll go scout. Call me back if you need me.” He removed his finger from his ear. “Vicky, I’m going to go up and see if I can figure out where Bakuda is. Help the others out.”

“Will do.”

Aegis rose upward like a shot and shrank into the night sky. Vicky watched his shapely legs disappear into the black and then followed him up part of the way, diving into the window he’d broken on his way out.

The room was empty, but the moment she passed the threshold of the window, Vicky could hear running feet heading away down the hallway. Then came a cry and a scuffling, as of two bodies grappling with one another.

She ran through the doorway and quickly sidestepped Kid Win’s flying form as he was thrown past her into the wall. Über was running the other way, half-dressed. Comically large goggles were on his face—so large, in fact, that she could see the outsides of the frames even from behind him—but other than that his bulk was wearing only a tight t-shirt and jeans.

 _You know, he’s not half bad looking,_ she thought as she rose into the air and flew towards him. _It’s such a shame he’s a jackass._

She bowled him over just as he came to a flight of stairs, and with a shout he started to fall, reaching for her to catch himself. His hand caught on her wrist and he blinked up at her.

She grinned at him. “Stop, in the name of the la-ah!” He twisted his wrist in her grip, leveraging his half-fallen position to throw her in midair. She went rolling in the air above the stairway for a couple feet as he slid back up.

She righted herself quickly, but he was already running back down the hallway, in the other direction. “Oh, no you don’t!” She dove after him only to overshoot her mark as he slipped into an open doorway.

She didn’t bother going back for the door and instead burst through the wooden wall behind him even as Kid Win picked himself back up and rushed to join her. There were more footsteps from the other side, coming up the stairs—the other Wards, hopefully.

Uber was halfway through opening a window when she came in. A smirk spread across her features as she charged.

She struck his back hard, sending him tumbling over the windowsill and falling out of the warehouse. She vaulted after him and flew down. He’d rolled as he landed, coming up standing, and was already running.

She dove and punched him. He didn’t try to block; instead, he allowed her to strike him and used the force to push himself forward and around the corner. She sped after him and caught a glimpse of him as he ducked back into the warehouse’s front door. The door slammed shut behind him.

She busted through the concrete wall and saw him sprinting towards a table on the side of the room. As she charged him, he picked something up from it and rolled out of her way.

He raised it as she turned back. It was a sword, glowing faintly blue.

“Stay back,” he growled, flicking something on the hilt. The glow began to flicker rapidly, so rapidly that Vicky almost couldn’t tell the difference.

“Buddy,” she said, “I’m invincible.”

He brandished the sword. “To impacts, maybe. This thing will deliver several thousand volts to you, about three hundred times a second.”

She cocked her head. “…You know I’m invincible to electric shocks too?” although, privately, she was suddenly feeling a lot more cautious. _The rapid attacks would get through my barrier._

He blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Über looked down at the sword in his hand, then sighed. “If I surrender, can you _please_ not hit me again?”

“Sure.”

He tossed the sword back on the table. The blade, still active, sheared cleanly through the wood and stuck about a foot into the concrete below. He blinked at the damage for a moment. “Oops.”

Vicky punched him. He was thrown back a couple feet and landed hard on his ass.

“Ow! The fuck, bitch?”

“You deserved it,” she said easily, turning towards the stairs. Clockblocker was leading Gallant, Vista, and Shadow Stalker down to her at a jog. Vicky waggled her brows at Gallant, raising one hand to her ear in a ‘call me’ sign. He gave her a nod, but she couldn’t see his face under the helmet.

“Where’s Leet?” she asked.

Shadow Stalker pointed at an adjoining doorway where, sure enough, two feet were sticking out of the darker room. “Already taken care of,” she said.

At that moment, the warehouse’s main door opened, and in stepped Laserdream, Shielder at her heels.

Vicky’s elder cousin stalked across the room until she was standing directly in front of her. Her eyes were hard, and she said nothing.

Vicky grinned. “Hey, coz. You missed the fun!”

Laserdream didn’t reply, turning instead to Clockblocker. “Where’s Aegis?” she asked.

“He and Kid Win have gone on ahead to scout,” the Ward replied. “Annatar’s on tactical command, from on console.” He turned to Shadow Stalker. “Tranquilizers?”

Shadow Stalker nodded and withdrew a crossbow bolt, approaching Über’s still seated form. “Nighty night, loser,” she said, jabbing it into his neck.

“Fuck you very much,” he replied. Then, without further ceremony, he fell back.

“Vicky Dallon.”

“Glory Girl when I’m in costume,” Vicky told her cousin with a cheeky grin. “Wouldn’t want to unmask me to these fine people, would you?”

Clockblocker snickered. Laserdream was unimpressed. “I know your mom told me I was in command,” she said. “So when I said, _scout ahead and don’t engage until I give the word_ , what part of that did you misunderstand?”

“Über threw Aegis out a window.”

“Aegis can _fly_.”

Vicky shrugged.

 _“New Wave.”_ The voice came from the radio Shadow Stalked had pulled from her belt. It was cool and hard; female, but not especially feminine.

Vicky turned, blinking.

 _“I’m Annatar,”_ said the person on the other end of the radio. _“I’ve been coordinating this mission. We’re not done yet. We need to find Bakuda’s hideout and take her out.”_

“Wait, what?” Laserdream’s voice was sharp. “You want to attack a tinker’s hideout now, without any of the Protectorate _or_ most of New Wave?”

 _“Yes.”_ Annatar sounded almost surprised at the question. _“She’s been blowing up my city. I’m not about to let that continue.”_

“Have you got a plan?” Vicky cut in.

_“Aegis and Kid Win are scouting from the air. I’d appreciate assistance to them. You can all fly.”_

“What are we looking for?” Vicky asked.

_“Movement around the fight with Lung. We’re under orders not to interfere with that fight itself, but we know both Oni Lee and Lung are there, so if we can find Bakuda’s hideout she should be alone.”_

“It _is_ a tinker’s hideout, though,” Clockblocker said.

 _“Yes,”_ agreed Annatar. _“And a much better tinker than Leet. Be careful, everyone. Vista, you’re transportation for the ground team. New Wave, are you willing to join Aegis and Kid Win in the air?”_

Laserdream was shaking her head. “This is crazy. We were supposed to help you with Über and Leet, not jump into an attack on Bakuda herself.”

“Hey,” said Vicky, a smirk on her lips. “You wanna head home, you can feel free.I’m sure your mom will understand if you were scared to face the _big bad tinker_ on her own terms.”

Laserdream glared at Vicky. “ _You_ need to listen when someone else is in charge,” she said sharply. “I really don’t want to have to tell your mom that you were hurt because you charged in on your own—”

“I’m _invincible_ —”

“—and I _also_ don’t want my little brother getting hurt because you were a careless idiot,” Laserdream steamrolled over her.

 _“You will have time for this later.”_ Annatar sounded annoyed. _“The Wards are moving out. We’re running out of time. Help or don’t.”_

“I’ll help,” said Vicky immediately.

Laserdream sighed. “I guess we will too,” she said. “Let’s go. But I’m going to talk to your mom about this, Vicky.”

Vicky shrugged. When Laserdream turned away, she threw Gallant a wink, and carefully wiggled her hips a little more than strictly necessary as she followed her cousins out of the warehouse.


	33. Sheen 4.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @dwood15, @Technetium43, @frustratedFreeboota, and @Assembler for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

“Aegis,” I said as the New Wave heroes left the warehouse, “Laserdream, Shielder, and Glory Girl are coming to join you. Be ready to control Glory Girl; she’s being… rowdy.”

_ “As usual,” _ he said with a sigh. He sounded almost as fond as he was exasperated, though. _“I’ll keep her in line.”_

“See that you do,” I said. “Keep looking.” I swapped over to a private channel. “Browbeat, this is Annatar.”

_ “Hey. How’s the operation going?” _

“Well enough. The others took out Über and Leet without too much trouble. Glory Girl came in and finished the job. Listen, are you anywhere near Dauntless?”

_ “Kinda? I’m a floor up from him right now. You need something?” _

I considered. “First, I need a second opinion,” I said. “If I told the Protectorate we were going after Bakuda’s base, how likely would they be to play ball?”

_ “Not at all,”  _ said Browbeat instantly. _“Partly to protect us, partly to protect their reputations.”_

“That was my assessment, too,” I said. “Shit. Do you think you could just listen in on Dauntless on console, and see if you can figure out anything about where they think Bakuda is?”

_ “Sure. No promises that it’ll turn up anything, though.” _

“I know. Just try.”

_ “I will. Are you… sure you want to go behind their backs like this?” _

“That woman has been blowing up my city for a _week_. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.” I swapped back to my open channel with the other Wards. “Aegis, situation?”

_ “Still nothing,” _ he said, his gaze scanning the city below. _“Since we got New Wave support, I left Kid Win with the captives until the PRT arrives. Rest of us are still scouting up here. Any insight?”_

“Not yet,” I said. “I’ve got Browbeat on it. Keep looking. Clockblocker, how are things on the ground?”

_ “I have a moral objection to running towards the things Lung is setting on fire.” _

“Suck it up. Where are you?”

_ “A couple blocks from the fighting. Looking for anybody who isn’t running away.” _

“Sounds about right. Vista, you’re keeping the group mobile?”

_ “Of course.” _

“Then carry on.” I leaned back against my seat and scanned the six screens before me, looking for anything amiss. It was entirely possible we would find nothing at all today; that all this effort would be for nothing. _But we have to try._

_ “Sure you don’t want us to help with Lung?” _ That was Sophia’s voice, breaking the silence.

“Aegis is in command,” I said, “but if it were my decision, no. The Protectorate and New Wave can handle that on their own, and _someone_ has to stop Bakuda while the heavy hitters are distracted.”

_ “I agree, for the record,” _ Aegis put in. _“None of us really has the training for that kind of fight. We’d get in the way, not because we can’t fight, but because we don’t train with the Protectorate. We wouldn’t be coordinated.”_

_ “Fair enough,” _ said Sophia.

_ “Annatar.” _ It was Browbeat. His voice was pitched slightly low, and was a little tense with excitement.

“Yes, Browbeat?”

_ “I’ve got something. Dauntless said something about the battle moving west; the heroes are chasing Lung that way.” _

“Think he’s drawing them away from something?”

_ “I do. It’s just a hunch.” _

“You’re the bearer of Ondoya. Your hunches are good. Wards, focus on the area to the east of the fight with Lung.”

_ “Got it,” _ said Aegis, and a moment later, _“We’ve got something. Camouflaged sentry on a balcony.”_

I looked through his screen—and, sure enough, there was a man carefully hidden, hunched on one balcony in the shadow of another in a several-story apartment complex. His clothes were dark and the gun in his hands was black, making him hard to spot, but he was certainly there.

“Don’t let him spot you. Think Glory Girl could manage a silent takedown?”

Aegis relayed the question. The New Wave hero answered, _“Silent’s not really my style, but yeah, sure. Want me to?”_

“Wait on that. Aegis, you and New Wave continue scouting. Vista, you know where this building is?”

_ “Not really.” _ Vista and the other grounded Wards were huddled just outside the flickering light of a streetlamp. _“We’re on the intersection of Beach and Wilde.”_

I nodded to myself. “Aegis, you don’t happen to know the address of this building?”

_ “Not the number. It’s on Stafford.” _

“Right. Vista, it’s on the street two blocks north of you, on the far side. Stay out of sight and see if you can identify the building.”

_ “On it.” _

_ “Another sentry.” _ Aegis again. _“And on a different floor. They’ve got the whole building on lockdown.”_

“I expected as much.” I scanned the image of the building on his screen. There were two balconies on each of the building’s five floors, one on either side. Other than that, there was an elevator and a penthouse on the roof, and a single main entrance on the ground floor. All of the windows were dark, and many of the curtains and blinds were drawn or lowered. “We should expect every entrance to be booby-trapped.”

_ “Want me to go through a wall again?” _ Sophia asked.

“No,” I replied. “With Über and Leet, I knew the numbers we were dealing with—two low-tier villains. This time, we have at least one high-tier villain and an unknown number of mooks. It’s too risky.”

_ “We have sight of the target,” _ reported Clockblocker, and it was true—the four grounded capes were leaning out from behind a corner to see the very building Aegis had pointed out.

I bit my lip. “Vista, can you tunnel your group up to one of the balconies?”

_ “Just tell me which one.” _

“Second floor, on the right. There’s a guy there, and the curtains are drawn. Clockblocker, you’ll need to move quick to freeze him before he sounds the alarm.”

_ “All right, I can see it. Ready when you are.” _

“Okay. Aegis, you and Glory Girl lead your group in by the roof. Don’t take the stairs; they’ll be trapped for sure, and a brute rating won’t protect you from some of her bombs. Have Glory Girl break the roof in on my mark.”

_ “Got it; on the move.” _

I took a deep breath. “Vista, on my mark, you give Clockblocker a tunnel, and Aegis, you have Glory Girl give you a route in.”

_ “Ready.” _ Vista.

_ “Understood.”  _ Aegis.

I swallowed. _If anyone dies tonight, I don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive myself._ “Mark.”

With a gesture, Vista shifted space. Slowly the road in front of them shifted as the warp stretched and coalesced—instead of continuing sidewalk, she and the others were faced with the end of a balcony, and a guy huddled in a corner, a gun held loosely in one hand. He blinked and started up as he saw them, his mouth opening to yell, but Clockblocker got to him first, and he froze mid-motion.

Simultaneously, Glory Girl dove straight into the roof, the plaster and masonry crumbling beneath her. Aegis, Laserdream, and Shielder followed her in and my view of his screen was faced with the surprised image of a single guy with a pistol right before Glory Girl threw him into a wall. He slid down to the floor, out cold.

“Aegis, keep going down, floor by floor,” I said. “We’ll know when we find her. Clockblocker, move into the building and comb this floor.”

_ “Gallant, you’re on point.” _ Clockblocker’s voice was firm and level.

Gallant nodded and, after taking a moment to roll his shoulders, burst straight through the glass door, the curtains billowing around him. He dove immediately—fortunate for him, since gunfire immediately sounded around him. He came up already launching blasts from both hands even as Vista stepped in after him and began twisting the air around him, keeping him safe from flying bullets. Sophia phased into shadow and dove for the nearest enemy, while Clockblocker hung back for a moment to give me a view of the room.

Several of the internal walls had been knocked down on the second floor. The whole place reminded me uncomfortably of my own workshop. Wiring covered the floors, linking one contraption and workplace to another in a crisscrossing web of cables. I knew some well—a power hammer, a forge, a traditional anvil, a couple of microforges. Then there were some I recognized but didn’t use myself—a chemist’s worktable, replete with decanters and vials; a fume hood like the one in Winslow’s chemistry labs, and a couple of sealed vats in one corner.

There were eight guys in heavy riot gear, assault rifles in their hands. Bakuda was nowhere to be seen.

Even as the fighting began in earnest, Glory Girl broke through the ceiling of the fourth floor, then the third. I noticed she was taking about a second between each burst, but paid no mind to it; something to ask about later. 

Vista gave Clockblocker a short route to a second as Sophia fired bolts at two and then ducked to solidify, allowing the bolts to connect—one managed to dodge, but the other staggered as the tranquilizer bolt solidified already halfway inside his vest, buried in his chest. Gallant’s blasts launched at two more guys, both of whom dove out of the way. They avoided the blasts, but were now lying belly-down on the ground.

_ Two down. _ Sophia’s target was falling and Clockblocker’s guy was frozen. Six remained, however.

_ “Shoot Vista!” _ I heard one shout, even as Glory Girl broke through the last floor and Aegis dove onto one gunman. _“Kill Vista!”_

_ “Not likely,” _ hissed Clockblocker, and everything slowed.

I smiled slightly. _Silmaya at work._

The men seemed to move in slow motion, raising their guns and pointing at Vista as if they were swimming through molasses. Vista could easily channel the firing arc of each gun away from her now, given the extra time to focus. Meanwhile, Sophia was already teleporting towards the doorway into the stairwell, where one of the guys was currently running, heading downstairs. He was moving backwards, a wild yell on his lips, spraying bullets madly back into the room, quite unaware of the shadow coalescing behind him.

_ Everyone _ moved slower under the influence of Dennis’ new power, including himself. But only those he considered allies could still _think_ at full speed. To the ABB gunmen, it would appear that the Wards had suddenly achieved inhuman reaction times.

Gallant slowly stood up, already aiming for two more targets. He took his time aiming, and carefully targeted the places they would be when his power reached them, predicting their movements. The blasts emerged from his hands slowly, like pitch dropping from a funnel, and ponderously crossed the room towards their targets.

Meanwhile, Vista had gotten _vicious_. The five men firing at her found their own bullets returning to them, striking in nonlethal places—and Vista _knew_ the difference between a lethal and a nonlethal target. Legshots carefully avoided arteries and major veins, and each strike was carefully intended to disable rather than to maim.

Aegis took advantage of the extra time to shift his grip in an unexpected hold on the guy and flip him over his own back, tossing the guy over his shoulder like so much chaff.

As soon as each Ward was in position to strike, Clockblocker released his iron grip on time. Gallant’s blasts connected, Sophia jabbed her target with a tranquilizer, Vista’s assailants fell over with pained cries, and Aegis’ foe hit the ground with a muffled thud, followed by a strangled, aborted cry as Aegis kicked him in the head.

There was a moment’s silence as everyone recovered, breathing heavily.

_ “What was that?”  _  I heard Glory Girl ask.

Then Clockblocker fell down, gasping for air.

_ “Shit,” _ said Aegis. _“Clockblocker, are you—”_

_ “I’m fine,” _ said Clockblocker harshly. _“Just took a lot out of me. I’ll be better in a couple of minutes, but we don’t_ have _a couple of minutes. Get moving before Bakuda has time to do something about us.”_

I nodded. “Clockblocker is right,” I said. “Wards, move on. Clockblocker, take your time. Great use of the new powers.”

_ “Thanks, Annatar.” _

_ “Should someone stay with him?” _ That was Vista, looking concerned, but Clockblocker shook his head.

_ “I’ll be fine,” _ he stressed. _“Get moving!”_

_ “We didn’t comb upstairs,” _ said Laserdream firmly. _“I’ll stay and keep watch for anyone coming from above or outside. Shielder, follow Aegis’ lead.”_

_ “We don’t have time to argue,” _ said Aegis. _“Move, people. Glory Girl, if we could get a path?”_

_ “You bet,”  _ said Glory Girl, and punched through the floor again.


	34. Sheen 4.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Skyrunner, @Technetium43, @frustratedFreeboota, @Assembler, and @Fenrisulfr for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.
> 
> Sorry for the lateness; the original version of this chapter had to be pulled and revised, so it only went to the forums on Sunday. 4.6 still went up yesterday, and will come here tomorrow, as scheduled.

Aegis led the charge, Shielder close behind him. They were greeted by a veritable hail of lead from a mounted minigun.

This floor, too, had lost a lot of its interior walls. Instead of a workshop, however, this one had a military-looking circular barricade around a central part of the room. Sandbags had been piled around a nailed-together wooden frame, all around a central mounted turret, which was currently firing a steady stream of heavy rounds into Aegis and Shielder. The New Wave hero quickly threw up a forcefield, but Aegis just launched himself forward, heedless of the bullets tearing into his frame.

Twelve men were on the inside of the barricade. One was on the turret, while the others were peeking out from behind the cover of the barricade. A motley assortment of rifles, submachine guns, and shotguns were in their hands.

Aegis threw himself into one wooden wall of the barricade. It splintered before him, and a moment later he was among the enemy. I couldn’t make heads or tails of the footage from his camera; he was surrounded by bodies and twisting limbs in a flurry of motion, and his microphone had automatically cut its transmission under the overwhelming sound of gunfire.

Sophia glanced in after him, then opted to stay on the floor above, taking potshots into the melee with her crossbows from a position between Clockblocker and Laserdream. The New Wave Blaster did much the same, blasting at them with lasers. I couldn’t blame either, Sophia especially; the room was well lit and almost without cover, save for the enemy barricade. Vista, on the other hand, leapt down after Shielder, ducking into cover behind his forcefield. Gallant and Glory Girl followed after her in quick succession.

 _“Aegis!”_ hollered Vista, her clear voice slicing through the cacophony. _“Get back!”_

Aegis obeyed immediately, taking a single step back which, with Vista’s help, delivered him behind the forcefield. Within moments, all of the gunfire was turned back to the group.

Glory Girl made as though to charge, but Gallant put a hand on her shoulder. _“Wait,”_ he hissed. His eyes—and his camera—were trained on Vista.

The youngest of my Wards was hunched slightly, her hands held just slightly apart, palms facing one another, as though she was holding a small ball. By the tension visible in the muscles of her arms and back, it was heavy. Her eyes were closed, and her brow was furrowed in intense concentration.

 _“I can’t hold this forever.”_ Shielder’s voice was strained, but firm.

Calmly, Aegis stepped in front of him. _“Fine,”_ he said. _“I’ll meat-shield it. Not much longer now.”_

 _“Not much longer until_ what _?”_ Glory Girl asked, her voice rising in something like hysteria on the last word.

 _“This.”_ Vista looked up as she spoke, her fists clenching in a sudden spasm, and stood straight. She made a gesture, as though throwing something at the group of men with her left hand. Histeya glittered like a violet star on her finger.

Vista could shorten or lengthen space at will. It was an incredibly potent power, one which easily deserved its rating of shaker 9. Histeya had, as with all of the Wards’ Rings of Power, provided an addition to her powerset. As with each of the others, the growth was conceptual.

Sophia’s power allowed her to become one with the shadows. Her new power allowed her to literally _be_ them, and emerge from any shadow she chose.

Clockblocker’s power gave him dominion over time. His new power expanded that dominion.

Kid Win’s tinkertech now had a greater tendency to beauty and resplendence, even as he produced more effective gear faster. Browbeat’s control over his own body, formerly restricted to biokinesis, now extended to self-control of a more traditional kind; he’d been banned from playing poker with the rest of us for the foreseeable future. Aegis’s ability to survive any wound had improved to include a true healing factor—rather than just refusing to die until slow natural healing could run its course, it would now take him little more than a day to recover from anything short of decapitation. Gallant’s raw ability to inject emotion had gained force, and he had also gained more control over it—he could do more than just simple blasts now.

Vista had always controlled space. Now she also controlled the _idea_ of space—direction.

Including _down_.

The men were thrust backwards as their conception of gravity shifted suddenly. Instead of beneath their feet, the source of _down_ was suddenly a point in the air about three feet above the minigun turret. The turret itself Vista picked out of the air as it rose—it dropped to her feet with a clang, half of its long belt of bullets still hanging out of her spatial warp.

 _“Go!”_ Vista screamed, visibly straining with the effort of holding twelve men in their own personal gravitational pool. Her arm shook where she held it out towards the singularity, and sweat beaded and ran down her brow in rivulets.

My other Wards didn’t need to be told twice. As one they dove forward. Sophia phased into shadow and rushed forward like a shade. Aegis charged, leading Glory Girl, Shielder, and Gallant behind him, the latter already firing bursts of debilitating emotion at one target after another.

As Sophia entered the group she solidified, drew two tranquilizer bolts, and buried them into the necks of two men with her hands before reaching for another set. Gallant struck two men with blasts of emotion before even reaching the group and hit two more within moments of arriving. Aegis grabbed one and beat him into unconsciousness with his own rifle, while Glory Girl grabbed two by their heads and knocked them together. Shielder pushed another into the ground with a forcefield, and Laserdream hit him with a laser to be sure.

Then Vista fell over. The singularity failed, and the remaining two gunmen fell to the ground. Of course, Sophia had jabbed both with tranquilizers before they could stand up. Then it was over.

Gallant immediately jogged back to Vista. _“Are you all right?”_

Vista slowly picked herself up to her hands and knees. Her whole body shook with the very effort of holding herself up. With a heave, she forced herself back into a sitting position. _“I’ll be… okay,”_ she wheezed. _“Haven’t held that many targets in a singularity before. Took a lot out of me. Think I’ll have to make like Clockblocker, for a little while.”_

 _“Fine,”_ said Aegis. His many wounds were leaking thin streams of blood, but they were already closing, pushing the bullets out of the regenerating flesh. He looked around. _“Where’s Bakuda?”_

 _“Here.”_ It was Glory Girl, pointing at a trapdoor half hidden under the mounting for the minigun. _“I mean, unless we have the wrong building.”_

 _“We have the right building,”_ said Aegis. _“What could be down there?”_

“Storage?” I suggested. “Her workshop was a floor up, but I didn’t see any actual bombs.”

 _“Which means we should expect a lot of explosives,”_ said Aegis grimly.

 _“I’ll go first,”_ offered Glory Girl. _“I can tank any explosions that come our way.”_

I tapped into the public radio on Aegis’s belt and spoke to her directly. “Can you tank being turned to glass? Or frozen in time? Bakuda’s a tinker. Be on guard.”

 _“Well, who’d be better for it than me?”_ she asked, a faint pout touching her full lips. _“Not like anyone else is invincible.”_

“No, you can take point,” I said. “Just… be careful. I want everyone coming home tonight.”

 _“You sound like Mom,”_ she complained.

“Sounds like a smart woman,” I said.

 _“I can go in through the floor,”_ Sophia suggested. _“At least scout things out.”_

“Even Leet punished that,” I answered, shaking my head. “Bakuda would probably be more fatal, and we learn from our mistakes. No, we should keep the assault party together. Glory Girl, can you bust through the floor?” _If so, they could all go in from an unexpected angle._

 _“Don’t think so.”_ She stomped one foot hard, and cracks spread across the ground at the thundering impact. _“It’s solid, probably several feet of concrete. I can break through a wall, but I’m not a drill.”_

That didn’t quite make sense to me, but I accepted it. She knew her powers better than I. “Fair enough. Clockblocker, you feeling better?”

 _“Some,”_ he replied. _“Probably don’t have another slow in me, but I can freeze people.”_

“That’ll help,” I said. “Vista, what about you? How long until you’re fit to fight?”

Vista shook her head, breathing heavily. _“Not for a while,”_ she wheezed. _“I think I’m tapped out, sorry. Stupid. I overextended.”_

 _“It’ll be okay,”_ Gallant said.

 _“Think we can handle one fight without you,”_ Glory Girl laughed, rolling her eyes. _“So? We moving?”_

I closed my eyes. “Aegis?”

_“…We need a more detailed plan of action.”_

“Hard to make one when we don’t know what’s waiting for us in detail. We definitely shouldn’t just charge her, though—any kind of direct assault might be countered. We have to try to shut her down before she has a chance to stop us.”

 _“Shit,”_ muttered Vista. _“You need me for that.”_

Sophia shook her head. _“I can teleport around behind her and take her out,”_ she said.

 _“What if the room’s well lit?”_ Vista asked. _“You need me there. Just give me, I don’t know, fifteen minutes.”_

 _“She’ll be gone in fifteen minutes,”_ Glory Girl countered. _“You shouldn’t have run out of juice right before we went in. We can’t give her time.”_

 _“Maybe we should withdraw. We really don’t have the kind of information we need to be doing this.”_ Laserdream’s voice wavered hesitantly.

“We’ve come too far to withdraw now,” I said. “We have a chance to finish this, to shut Bakuda down before she can hurt anyone else.” I grimaced. “Well, that’s what I’d like to say, but I’m not there—it’s not my life I’m risking.”

 _“No, you’re right,”_ Aegis said. _“We can’t stop now. If the room’s lit, we’ll split up. Glory Girl, Laserdream, and I will come at her from different angles. With luck, she won’t have a counter to that. Shielder will hang back with Clockblocker and Shadow Stalker to protect them if things go south, and they’ll all look for an opportunity to disable. Gallant will hang back with Vista—someone has to.”_

 _“Really?”_ Glory Girl asked disapprovingly. _“Gallant’s one of our best disablers. Why do you want him to stay back here?”_

 _“Because if Clockblocker or Shadow Stalker get an opportunity, either of them can end the fight more easily,”_ Aegis said. _“It’s not ideal, but it’s what we’ve got.”_

 _“Nah,”_ came another voice. I glanced up in surprise at a screen I hadn’t looked at in a while. Kid Win was dropping towards the bottom floor of the apartment complex. _“PRT picked up Über and Leet, so I’m here now. I can stay with Vista, keep watch on the rear.”_

 _“Shouldn’t we take a tinker with us, since we have one?”_ Shielder said. _“We’re going into a tinker’s lair, after all.”_

 _“I somehow doubt I’d have time to examine her tech,”_ Kid Win chuckled. _“I don’t think I’d be much help. You need Gallant more.”_

“Fine, we’re out of time,” I said. “Aegis, you and Glory Girl are on point. Shielder, you’re behind them. Be ready to throw up a barrier if anything looks like it might hurt them. Clockblocker, you’re the next one in. Laserdream, can you be his mover? He usually works with Vista.”

_“That’s fine.”_

“All right. Gallant, you’re back there with them. Shadow Stalker, you’re in the rear. Be ready to jump on any opportunities you spot.”

_“Will do.”_

“Okay. If the room’s well lit, be ready to split up and engage, but don’t attack until I give the word. We want to see what she has up her sleeves first—if she has any countermeasures, we don’t want to be caught off guard.” I cracked my knuckles. “Be careful, everyone. I want my explanation to Piggot to involve telling her why we went and took out Bakuda with no casualties, _not_ why one of you is dead. Aegis, whenever you’re ready.”

Aegis nodded to Glory Girl. With a grin, she shoved aside the wood and metal mounting and knelt to open the trapdoor. As soon as it opened—or, rather, was ripped clean from its hinges—she leapt backward, rising into the air, holding the square of wood before her like a shield.

A good thing, too. The bomb attached to the latch lit up in a burst of fire and light. Then again, it looked like a traditional fragmentation grenade, or something similarly concussive. Glory Girl would have been fine.

 _“Let’s get going,”_ said Aegis, and he and Glory Girl led my Wards, and New Wave, into the depths.

The trapdoor opened onto a spiraling stairway, wide enough for two to walk abreast. Aegis and Glory Girl floated ahead of the others, orbiting the central pillar slowly, their bodies tense as coiled springs, ready to leap into action.

But no action came. The stairs led them down some twenty feet into the earth, surrounded by concrete walls, and then they came to a door. Again Glory Girl opened it and leapt back, but this time there was no explosion.

And then the tension broke. The next room was spectacular, in the technical sense—it was a _spectacle_. They stood on a steel mesh balcony near the ceiling of a room almost forty feet in height, lit by fluorescent lights on the ceiling and along the walls, as well as lamps at intervals on the ground—only the corners and an area in the back where a sloping ramp led up to large garage doors were dim. The whole place was walled in unadorned gray concrete. Tables on the lower level were overflowing with what were unmistakably tinkertech bombs, and the excess was strewn across the floor.

All of this was secondary to the vast contraption which dominated the center of the room. Rising ten or fifteen feet in the air, the hemisphere of metal, partially plated with scavenged steel, was a marvel of circuitry and open wiring. Digital displays poked out from under the mess in several places, and tools were still attached in more than one location along the plating and in the workings.

_“Like it?”_

My whole force turned to look at the speaker. She was on the lower floor, about thirty feet down and twenty feet across from the Wards, leaning against a black and red vintage motorcycle with a painted flame motif and twin black luggage holsters on the back of the chassis. The dark steel of her gas mask contrasted with the yellow highlights of her costume and with the blood-red tint of her goggles.

I’d heard Bakuda’s voice before, in the recordings she’d released and in captured footage. The voice I knew was twisted and distorted by the metal mask she wore until it was totally unrecognizable as human. That wasn’t the case now. Her voice modulator was apparently inactive for whatever reason, and instead of a cold robotic tone, I heard an almost startlingly human speaker—a young woman of perhaps twenty.

 _“Split up!”_ Aegis ordered, but Bakuda held up one hand. In it was what looked like a detonator.

 _“Ah, none of that,”_ she said. _“You stay_ right _where you are. Unless you want to turn around and walk out. I’d recommend doing that.”_

 _“We’re not leaving,”_ growled Aegis.

I channeled my power through Nenya and forced myself to look around through the screen, detecting whatever I could. I found bombs—several of them. Beneath my friends’ feet, above their heads, on the walls behind and beside them.

There were too many to point them all out—enough that I doubted even Shielder could protect the team from all of them. And I couldn’t communicate with him without Bakuda hearing.

“Keep her talking,” I hissed. “The whole area is trapped.”

 _“Got it,”_ Aegis whispered, and then spoke aloud. _“What is that thing?”_ He gestured at the large machine in the room’s center. _“Looks like junk.”_

“Shadow Stalker,” I said as Bakuda gestured lazily at the massive device. “Try to get around behind her. Withdraw into the shadow of the stairway and then teleport.”

 _“Okay.”_ I watched as she took a couple steps back. A moment later, her screen went dark. _Good luck, Sophia._

Meanwhile, with half an ear, I was listening to Bakuda’s explanation. _“It was supposed to be my magnum opus. My great work. A bomb with a payload of almost 80 terajoules—but that wasn’t the impressive part. On detonation it’ll release an EMP with a wide enough area to knock out electronics across half the eastern United States. Suddenly, Kyushu doesn’t look so impressive anymore—and Endbringers aren’t so unique.”_

 _“Why?”_ Gallant asked. _“Why would you_ want _that?”_

Bakuda shrugged, and as she continued, I spoke again. “Be ready to go airborne, everyone. She can’t have planted bombs in midair.”

 _“Partly I just_ really _like explosions. There’s not even a philosophy behind that—no bullshit about their cleansing purity or anything. They’re just fucking cool._ Bang! _And you’re gone.”_ She chuckled.

“Vista, how much longer?” I asked.

_“I’m getting there. A couple minutes.”_

_“Then there’s the bit where Lung wanted me to do it.”_ Bakuda continued. _“All the other gangs have one major thing on his—money. But money’s all electronic these days, and everything you can do with it is_ also _electronic. Take out the electricity, and suddenly none of the other gangs within half the country look anything like as powerful as they were. But the ABB? They’re still fine. But you know?”_ She looked over at the bomb. If I could see her face, I imagined it might look almost fond. _“I think the big part was just that I_ could _. I had the power to wreak havoc on a scale that makes Endbringers look like small potatoes. That’s reason enough.”_

 _“You’d kill tens of thousands of people for a_ power trip _?”_ Glory Girl asked, her voice pitched less as a question and more as a bewildered exclamation.

_“Yeah, basically.”_

_“I’m in position,”_ Sophia murmured. She was in the shadows behind Bakuda, her crossbows trained on her. _“Give the word.”_

“It’s a long shot,” I whispered. “You’re fucked if she notices you before you take her out. Wait for now. You’ll all act at once on my mark.”

 _“You really are a cartoon supervillain,”_ said Aegis, shaking his head. _“Evil plot without good reasons, and now you’re even monologuing.”_

 _“Well, yeah,”_ said Bakuda. _“Wouldn’t you monologue if you could get away with it?”_

 _“You’re not getting away with anything,”_ hissed Laserdream.

Was this my opportunity? I opened my mouth, ready to order the attack.

 _“See, that’s the other reason I was monologuing,”_ said Bakuda. _“Had to give her time to arm. Ciao.”_

She leapt onto the motorcycle and began to move even as one of the fluorescent fixtures in the ceiling cracked and shattered in a blast of light and a sound like thunder. A translucent sphere, almost like glass, started to expand from the inside.

Aegis just had time to shout _“Run!”_ before it was on him. From the cameras of the Wards behind, I watched in horror as he was swallowed up by the expanding sphere. His camera went dark and he froze as surely as if Clockblocker had struck him.

“Vista, Kid Win, get out of there!” I screamed, but it was too late. Even as Kid Win slung Vista up onto his hoverboard, the bubble rose through the floor and claimed them.

Sophia fired off a bolt as soon as Bakuda moved, but the Tinker was going too fast, and the confusion as too great, for her to be really accurate. She made two teleports in quick succession as the garage doors opened. The motorcycle sped past her, up a ramp and out into the night, her crossbow bolt just missing Bakuda’s head. A moment later, her screen went black too.

In less than thirty seconds, I was left sitting in shock, staring at eight blank rectangles against the off-white backdrop of the wall.


	35. Sheen 4.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Technetium43, @frustratedFreeboota, @Assembler, and @Fenrisulfr for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

_I just got all my friends killed._

The thought bubbled to the surface slowly, like fetid air from the depths of a bog. It breached the surface of my thoughts first as a thick, shapeless blob. When it burst, it released horror, pain, and awe—awe at my own stupidity, my hubris, the sheer scale of my failure.

But even as the tears rose to my eyes and the bile rose to my throat, one screen lit back up.

 _“Taylor.”_ Sophia’s voice was choked with bone-deep exhaustion and tight with loss and pain.

“Sophia,” I whispered. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I—”

 _“It’s not your fault,”_ she lied. _“Taylor, listen to me. I managed to follow Bakuda out of the garage before the bomb got me, but I’m tapped out. I had to make four blinks without resting, and I hit the ground pretty hard.”_

“I’ll get them to pick you up,” I promised, wiping my eyes. She was on a roof, I could see, lying on her back. Her camera gave me a lovely view of the stars, dimmed by the Bay’s smoggy haze.

 _“No, you don’t_ — _fucking_ listen _.”_ Sophia’s voice rose, grew heated, but the effect was ruined as she was interrupted by a coughing fit. _“She’s coming, Taylor. She was headed straight down Stockton. She’ll be by the PRT building in just a couple minutes. She’s going to bomb you.”_

My mouth opened slightly. “She’s coming here?”

_“She’s lost her megabomb. She’ll want to do as much damage as she can on the way out. Taylor, move!”_

I stood up. “Can you move?” I asked.

 _“If you need me to.”_ But her voice was rough, exhausted.

“No, you rest.” I shook my head. “I have this. I’ll send someone to find you. Be careful.”

 _“Don’t worry about me. Fucking_ kill _this bitch.”_

I was reaching for Narsil before she’d finished speaking. It wasn’t at my belt. I could have sworn I’d had it there when I sat down.

Casting around the room, however, I saw Aeglos leaning against the wall.

_You’ll do._

I took it up, and it gleamed cold in the electric lighting. “That’s the plan.”

I picked up the Jewelry Box, lying open beside me, and slipped off Nenya. I didn’t want to be protected right now, nor to be concealed.

The Ring of Sapphire found its way onto my finger. I closed my eyes as I shut the Jewelry Box and laid it back down, allowing the power to flow through me.

Vilya, the Dominant Ring, the Ring of the Healer and the King, shone like a star. It eclipsed the pale incandescent lights as the moon eclipses the reflection of rusted iron. Aeglos, the Icicle of Gil-galad, shone blue and white in its light. My armor flared around me.

I had failed, and my friends had paid the price. But I could still avenge them.

_Im ná i Calimatar Hrómen. I am the Bright Lord of the East._

* * *

 

The single light of Bakuda’s motorcycle came into my view not long after I took my position on the street outside the PRT building. I hadn’t passed Triumph on my way out. I assumed he was either patrolling the rest of the building or killing time in the break room.

I hadn’t told him what had happened, or asked him to join me. There would be time—time to accept Piggot’s punishment, to face the fury of the Protectorate and the sympathy of my dad. There would be time to go to each set of bereaved parents in person and offer what little closure I could.

There would be time to suffer for my failure. For now, there was still work to do—and I wanted to face this alone.

I unslung Belthronding from my shoulder and drew forth the only arrow in my quiver. The shaft of black yew seemed almost too dark—as though, rather than reflecting the starlight above as one would expect of polished wood, it consumed it, pulling it in like a black hole.

The power of the Black Arrow should not work when exploited. It was not _supposed_ to be the only arrow in my quiver. It was supposed to be my final shot, the end of the battle. It was supposed to come after I had depleted my options, after I had run out of time, choice, and hope.

But when I put it that way, it was only fitting that it should serve now.

“Arrow,” I whispered as I nocked it. “Black arrow. I have saved you to the last. If I have made you true, and if my cause is just, fly now straight and sure.”

I let fly. The arrow struck dead into the workings of Bakuda’s motorcycle and sank deep. There was a flare as the gas canister ignited, and a screech as the back tire snapped out of alignment. The motorcycle flipped, rolling end over end, sending sparks everywhere and trailing smoke and flame. I heard Bakuda screaming as she burned and was battered by her own machine.

The bike landed on its side and slid, Bakuda’s left leg trapped under it. She screamed as her flesh was flayed between the heavy motorcycle and the rough asphalt. For a moment she was was dragged along the coarse roadway, and when it came to a stop, she gave a moan of pain through gritted teeth and laid back against the tarmac.

I walked forward. Belthronding returned to its place across my back, and Aeglos came forth. “Bakuda.”

She glanced up, her red reflective lenses glinting in the light of the streetlamps. “Annatar,” she said, and her voice was stiff and brittle with agony. “Saw you on the news.”

“You killed my friends.”

She gave a short, sharp laugh. It came out almost as a cough. “Not yet.”

I stopped. “What?”

“The instant timestop bomb.” Her breathing was ragged. “My slow-acting ones are permanent, or near-permanent, but the instant ones aren’t. Their duration scales negatively with their area. Had to freeze the whole building.”

I stared at her. “So they’re not dead.”

“Not yet, they aren’t. The timestop should go down in a few minutes. Also, don’t come any closer,” she warned, “or I detonate every bomb I’ve got left in this city—including the implanted ones. You want to be responsible for the deaths of a few hundred more people?”

_Will she do that?_

Vilya curled about my finger. _No._

“You’re lying.”

“Nope. You know I can remotely detonate my bombs.”

“I know,” I said, “but I’m a precog.”

She lay back. “Fuck.”

“Since I know you can’t or won’t do it, mind satisfying my curiosity?”

“Sure. I do like a good monologue, and it’s not like it does me any good anymore. Toe-rings on my left big and second toes; I cross them to trigger the bomb—or bombs—of my choice.” She looked down ruefully at her motorcycle. “Not sure I even _have_ a big toe down there anymore, and I sure as hell can’t feel it.” She glanced up at me. “You know I’m going to bleed out in a couple minutes, right?”

“Not with that fire cauterizing the injuries, and the debris and road keeping them covered and under pressure,” I replied. “No, your death will be slower. First the wounds will close, sealing asphalt and gasoline under your skin. Then the scabs and internal injuries will sicken as the infection sets in, until your blood is toxic and your body fails around you.” I smiled. “Your death will be slow, Bakuda. Slow and painful. And no one will lift a finger to save you.”

“Lung owes me this city.” Her voice was hoarse.

“Lung doesn’t strike me as the type to pay his debts to a dead woman with no attachments in this world. Why should he? Who will come to collect?”

“You wouldn’t leave me here,” she said, but she sounded almost resigned. “You’re a hero. You’re supposed to be better than that.”

“I didn’t say I’d leave you here. I’d find the nearest abandoned building—probably one you emptied out with a bomb—and then I’d drop you there, and drop your bike on top of you. Then I’d leave. No one would ever know. If you’re lucky, you’d die of thirst before the blood poisoning got you. Either way, no one would find you; not for weeks. Not until well after your body had cooled and become a nest for maggots.”

“Damn, you really hate me.” The hint of mirth in her voice was almost appreciative. “What’d I do to you?”

“You’ve been terrorizing my city for a week now. You hurt my father. You almost killed my friends.”

“Almost?”

I frowned. “I know the timestop will drop, but—”

“No, you don’t get it.” She was smiling around the pain now; I could hear it in her voice. “Were you listening, at the garage? I guess you were on mission control, coordinating.”

“I heard.”

“Then you remember. The megabomb? It’s not finished. The blast isn’t nearly as big as I wanted it to be.”

My face slackened. “But it’s—”

“What do you think I was waiting to arm? The time bomb was ready from the start.” She laughed—a short, hacking sound. “I did say _yet_. The timestop should go down in just a few more minutes now. One bomb fails, and the other succeeds.”

“No,” I said, in dawning horror. “No! My—”

And then there was light. I looked up, behind her, and saw the light rising in a great cloud of debris, dust, and ash. In the same instant, the streetlamps on either side flickered and died. Behind me, the lights of PRT HQ went out.

Then the shockwave hit, moments later, setting my hair billowing behind me and making the motorcycle skid about an inch on Bakuda’s leg. She hissed in pain, but she was laughing, too—laughing almost hysterically. The darkness was total, save for the stars flickering overhead, and the gleaming of Aeglos, Vilya, and my armor.

“They weren’t dead then,” she giggled, almost choking, “but they sure are now!”

I watched the stones falling back to the earth, the dust settling. Tears pricked my eyes. I tried to blink them away, but they kept coming.

_They’re gone. Carlos, Dennis, Missy, Dean, Chris… they’re gone. And it’s my fault._

“There,” said Bakuda, sounding almost satisfied, her eyes lingering on one darkened streetlamp. “That’s that done. Faster than I expected, too.” She smirked up at me. “Really should’ve held back on the grief until now.”

“Why?” I asked her, and hated how my voice quavered. “Why would you do this? Why would you want to?”

Bakuda chuckled wetly. “It’s like this, kid. The world’s a shit place, full of shit people.”

“That’s no reason to—”

“I didn’t finish. World’s shit. People are shit. We walk around on this shitty little planet for, what, fifty, sixty years? Then we die. Nothing changes. World’s still shit, people are still shit. Shakespeare couldn’t change that. Einstein couldn’t change that. Mozart couldn’t change that.”

“At least they tried to leave it better than when they arrived.”

“Tried and failed.” She gurgled slightly, shifting her position on the ground. A faint gasp of pain escaped her as she accidentally moved her injured leg. “I spent all my life trying to chase after great people. Trying to be remembered, to leave a legacy. Then I realized—none of it fucking matters. No one listens to Mozart anymore, except rich snobs trying to look educated. Same for Shakespeare. And Einstein? All anyone remembers him for is the bomb.”

She laughed again; wet, tight, and frantic. “I want to be remembered. I don’t want to be just another poor sap crawling on all fours from one edge of a plateau to another, only to fall into the dark at the end and be just— _gone_. And if I can’t be remembered for art, or literature, or science, well,” she held out both her arms, wincing as the motion jostled her wounds, gesturing to the dark city around us, “there’s always the bomb.”

I studied her through eyes blurred with tears. “That’s it?” I asked, my voice low and soft. “That’s your great reason?”

“Yep. Well, that and the whole ‘I really like explosions’ thing. Going to kill me now? Or make good on your threats?” She coughed and chortled.

I reached out and touched her with my left hand. Bakuda was strong-willed by nature, but weakened by pain and by serving Lung for months. The struggle was fierce, but short, and in a few moments, I had her mind in my grasp.

“Your deadman’s switch,” I said. “How is it activated?”

“Heart rate monitor,” she told me, her voice perfectly monotonous, staring up at me with dull eyes. “I have a monitor patch on my chest, controlled through my HUD.”

“Can you disable it?”

“Yes.”

“Do so.”

A pause. “Done.”

“If I took off your goggles, would you be unable to reactivate your switch?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I reached down and grabbed at the lenses, pulling hard until the strap snapped and the red lenses came free, sparking slightly as the HUD interface broke down. I held it up for a moment, staring into the red disks, before tossing it aside. “You’re free.”

Her eyes blinked and cleared. She stared up at me in sudden fury which slowly gave way to dawning horror. “What the fuck did you do?”

I didn’t answer her. “You ever heard of Grendel?”

“No,” she replied warily. “Who’s that?”

“Mm. Bet you’ve heard of Beowulf, though.”

She stiffened.

“No one will remember you, Bakuda,” I told her. “You won’t be more than a footnote in the history books, remembered only for the challenges you offered your betters. No one remembers Grendel—they remember Beowulf. No one remembers Claudius—they remember Hamlet. And no one will remember you.” I raised Aeglos. “They’ll remember me. The one who put you down like the rabid bitch you are.”

“Fuck you,” she hissed. “This is real life. There is no happy ending, there is no resolution. The hero doesn’t always come out on top, and it’s the winner that writes the history.”

“Yes,” I said. “Hail to the victors.” And I brought the spear down.


	36. Sheen 4.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making this update early because I’ll be away from my PC all of tomorrow, and much of the next few days.
> 
> Also, please note that, as a result of my increasingly busy schedule, I’m going to be slowing the update pace of this story to one chapter per week. The weekly chapter will reach SpaceBattles and SufficientVelocity on Monday, and come here on Wednesday.
> 
> This week in particular, I don’t think I can make that deadline, so this week’s coming chapter will be unpredictably late, and I’m not sure by how much. Sorry. Next week things should get back on track.
> 
> Many thanks to @Technetium43, @frustratedFreeboota, @Assembler, @themanwhowas and @Fenrisulfr for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

In a storybook or a movie, the hero kills the villain and then there’s… something.

The screen fades to black, or there’s a line break, and the scene cuts. We return to the hero later, after they’ve recovered, after they’ve collected themselves.

Real life isn’t like that.

I stood there for a time, watching Bakuda stain my spear red. Her last gasp of breath came after a few seconds, and for a little longer than that I studied the woman’s blood draining out onto the roadway.

In all likelihood, the humid Brockton summer would provide a warm rain in the next few days or weeks. The rain would run down the black asphalt and wash away whatever stain the cleaners didn’t get at. The body would be removed by the PRT, and its equipment would be confiscated. I didn’t know what they’d do with the corpse itself, in the long run. Would they bury it? Burn it? Toss it into a pile of refuse and leave it to rot?

Regardless of what was done, I had a feeling there wouldn’t be much turnout at the funeral. I wondered how many people even knew her name—her real name, the name of the woman whose dead eyes were staring up at me now, not the name of the red-eyed demon who had terrorized the city. Probably a few, who had known the student who had held Cornell hostage. I wondered how many would care she was gone.

But she had taken my friends, my comfort, and—some would argue—whatever innocence I had regarding death.

_ No. No one will remember you, Bakuda—except me. _

I looked up at the rising cloud of smoke from the site of her garage. My friends’ grave. With a heave I drew Aeglos out of the corpse and felt around for a handkerchief or other cloth. I found a small white one in my back pocket and wiped down the spear’s point with it, clearing away the gore.

_ I should carry a proper cloth, _ I thought. Then I realized the implications. Bile rose in my throat, but I forced it down with a deep breath, in and out. I lowered Aeglos to my side, stepped over Bakuda’s corpse, and began walking.

The streets were totally empty. No one moved in any of the houses or businesses. The streetlamps and windows were all still dark—and dark they would remain.

I raised Vilya, and the blue light of the Ring of Air shone around, illuminating the dark streets. “Shadow Stalker!” I called. “Shadow Stalker, where are you?”

“Here!” Her hoarse voice reached me from an alleyway, about a block ahead of me and to my right. I ran for her. Sophia was sitting slumped against the wall, one hand cradling her side. Her chest rose and fell visibly with each labored breath. Her eyes, glittering darkly under her mask, sought mine.

“Taylor,” she whispered. “You’re okay.”

“Yes,” I said, coming towards her. “I’m fine.”

“Is Bakuda—?”

“Dead.”

“Good.” Sophia’s voice was raw. Her eyes closed under her mask. Her breathing grew a little easier, a little less raspy, as the tension drained from her shoulders.

Aeglos clattered to the ground. On an impulse, I took her into my arms, holding her tightly.

“Ah!” She gave a pained exclamation, tensing, and I loosened my grip. Before I could let go, though, she relaxed and hugged me back. I wasn't sure who was comforting whom. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I hit my ribs. Cracked, I think.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice breaking as I held her gingerly and buried my face in her shoulder. “I’m sorry for everything.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said, gently stroking my hair where it emerged from my helmet. “It’s Bakuda’s, and you got her.”

“You shouldn’t have even been out there. We should have contacted the Protectorate, gotten support from the PRT, _something_. I was cocky and you— _they_ —paid for it.”

“We were all right there with you,” said Sophia, putting a hand on my shoulder. “We all wanted to take her down, we all knew everyone else was busy. We’re _soldiers_.”

“We’re not supposed to be!” I said, my voice rising hysterically. “And you _weren’t_ , until I arrived! The Wards were supposed to be a safe place to train, and I ruined that!”

“I never wanted a safe place to train,” Sophia growled. “None of us did, really, not deep down. We’re _capes_ —we’re _survivors_. We—what’s the word?—we _revel_ in conflict, in struggle. We _thrive_ in it. Anyone who thinks we want to be coddled is kidding themselves. You _know_ this—don’t chicken out on me now.”

“ _Chicken out?_ ” I hissed, glaring at her through damp eyes. “I just got most of my friends killed!”

“People die in fights!” she roared, squeezing my shoulder almost painfully. “People fucking die anyway! At least they died _doing_ something! At least they went down fighting!” She took a deep breath and exhaled; her grip loosened. She seemed to shrink, the energy and vehemence leaving her. “It’s how they’d have wanted to go. It’s how _I_ want to go.”

I watched her as her eyes closed. Her head fell back against the wall softly.

“You’re exhausted,” I said.

She nodded wordlessly.

“Can you walk?”

“I might need to lean on you.”

“That’s fine. Let’s get you back to base.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, I—I want to go to the garage. I want to… to find them. I don’t want you to do it alone.”

“I wouldn’t do it alone,” I told her. “I’d call the PRT, get help.”

“Liar,” she said, a smile in her voice. She was right, of course.

I considered her. “Fine,” I said. “Come on.”

I helped her up. She got to her feet gingerly, as though she wasn’t sure they’d hold her weight, but they did—with a little help, and a steadying hand over my shoulders. I held her up with one arm while steadying myself with the other, using Aeglos as a walking stick.

We moved through the streets slowly, like competitors at the end of a three-legged race. The star that was Vilya illuminated our path towards the great mess of rubble and debris where our teammates lay buried.

“Aegis probably survived,” Sophia said as we walked, between deep breaths. “Might be crippled, but he’s hard to kill. Glory Girl, too.”

“Glory Girl’s invincibility was weird,” I said. “Not sure it works as advertised.”

“Still. Worth hoping.”

I sighed. “Yeah, it’s worth hoping.” And it was true—Aegis had probably survived. Unless he’d suffocated in the rubble, he’d probably be breathing when we dug him out. Missing arms and legs, gored and crushed to a pulp—but breathing.

We reached the rubble after only a couple minutes of walking. Too soon. I wasn’t ready to find Aegis, to face him and own up to the fact that I was responsible for the loss of his team.

We turned a corner and stared at the massive, ruined pile of stone and masonry before us. Water sprayed up in a couple of places where pipelines had broken, and a fire glimmered red at one ruined street corner.

“Annatar?” Kid Win blinked at us. His visor was gone; his face exposed. Several parts of his armor were lying beside him on the ground, their indicator lights dull. “Shadow Stalker?”

Beside him, Aegis whipped around to look at us. His eyes were wild, and his right arm was completely missing slightly above the elbow, with only a crushed and torn stump left. The bleeding had stopped, and with the help of Laureya, glimmering on his left finger, the flesh was slowly creeping back down to where it had reached before. “You’re okay,” he said, some tension bleeding out of his frame.

“What’s going on?” Sophia asked immediately. I just stared, my mouth opening and closing soundlessly. _They were alive._

Aegis was kneeling in a lower part of the mess of rubble. Kid Win had a large block of masonry in his hands, and his hoverboard lay beside him, inert. A single chemical light still glowed in his suit, casting a strange, ghostly beam before him which shone into my eyes.

Aegis gritted his teeth. “The others are still buried down there,” he said. “I sent out an SOS with one of Kid Win’s flares when I realized the radios were down.”

I twitched. “Are they alive?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” he said, his voice raw, reaching down to pull aside another block of stone. “Shielder and Laserdream protected us from the worst of the blast, but their forcefields collapsed when the building came down on top of us. I dug my way out with my power’s help, and Kid Win’s hoverboard was able to get him and Vista mostly out of the line of fire before the blast, but I don’t know about any of the others.”

“Vista’s okay?” I asked, looked at Kid Win.

“She’s alive.” He grimaced.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” My voice was getting frantic.

“This.”

I turned. Vista was leaning against a wall, fixing me with a steady stare through one green eye. The other was gone entirely, leaving a gaping mess of gore and blood in its place.

“Oh, fuck,” Sophia whispered beside me. I, for one, was speechless.

“Took a hit from debris,” she said, her voice calm, but still thick with exhaustion. “Lucky it wasn’t worse. Kid Win had a tinkertech painkiller, and Aegis slowed the bleeding, so I’m lucid, but I still can’t do much.”

“You’re alive, at least,” said Sophia, her voice a low murmur. She glanced at me. “Look, I’ve had enough talking. I’m going to go down there, see whether I can find any of the others.”

“Are you okay to go shadow form?” I asked.

She gave me a frail grin. “I’ll be fine, Annatar. My old powers don’t take a lot.”

“Fortunately, my Geiger counter’s still working,” Kid Win said, holding up a small ticking device.

_ Ticking. _

I staggered back, but he shook his head. “No, no, don’t worry!” he exclaimed. “That’s just ambient—background radiation. The bomb wasn’t nuclear. We’re good to dig and search.”

_ But if it was, I’d have just killed Sophia. Again. _

I touched her arm to steady myself and came forward. “Okay,” I said after a couple of deep breaths. “Okay. Let’s get to it, then.”

Sophia nodded, touching my hand with hers comfortingly—a fleeting thing, like a brush of wind. “Thanks, Kid,” she said. “Dunno if radiation would kill me in shadow form. Don’t want to find out. I’ll be back.” With that, she dissipated into a dark mist and sank down into the crumbled earth.

I glanced back at Vista, wincing at the sight of her ruined face. “Are you sure you’re—”

“I’ll be fine.” Her tone brooked no argument. “Get the others _out_. I’ll get them to the hospital once you do. I should be recovered enough to use my powers by then.”

I nodded, pulled out my Jewelry Box and swapped Rings. Narya shone red. “Okay,” I said, setting Aeglos down at the edge of the rubble. “Let’s get to work.”

I started to dig, hefting one piece of fallen building at a time and tossing it off of the pile. Aegis and Kid Win joined me. Bit by bit, we worked our way down. We dug through masonry and stone, through rebar lodged in concrete, through twisted metal plates reforged by the heat of the blast into strange shapes, twisted into helixes or blooming iron flowers.

After about five minutes, Sophia returned from below. “I found them. Clockblocker’s alive and seems to be okay. He froze his costume to keep himself safe, and he’s definitely breathing. Shielder’s alive and only cut up. Laserdream and Glory Girl are both alive, but they’re… not so well off. And I couldn’t tell whether Gallant was breathing under his armor.”

“Gallant’s alive,” Vista said immediately. “I’d know if he was dead.”

“How?” Aegis asked. “I know you—”

“We have paired Rings,” she said quietly. “The Dusk would know if the Dawn had died. He’s alive.”

“Then he’s injured,” said Sophia, her voice even, “and may not be for long. His backplate’s fractured, and some of the pieces are digging into him.”

I closed my eyes. “We’ll get to them in time,” I said. “We have to.”

The night went on, and we dug. Slowly, the city lit up around us with chemical lighting; torches, flares, and the like cast flickering glows on street corners and in residences, but more than light, they cast deep, long shadows in the places they didn’t reach.

We were soon joined by PRT personnel, then by New Wave and the Protectorate. The capes looked bedraggled and tired, sickened by battle and beaten by failure. Lung, I guessed, had not been recaptured.

“Annatar,” said Armsmaster through gritted teeth when he arrived.

I stood up and turned to face him. “I fucked up,” I said, spreading my hands out to my sides, opening myself up. “I _know_ that, Armsmaster. But we need to get the others out of here first. I’ll take whatever punishment you want me to, _after_ we’ve got them out.”

He considered me, a frown on what of his face I could see, then nodded once. “Okay. Let’s get to work.”

Browbeat was with him. He didn’t try to speak to me; just gently laid a hand on my arm before going to talk quietly with Aegis as he joined in the effort.

Armsmaster’s armor was still working, and the lights in his chest and helmet lit the street well enough to see, even for those of us unenhanced by Rings of Power. With the addition of that, his halberd’s ability to cleave through the larger rocks, and an orb of light in Brandish’s hand—not to mention the pale glow of my armor—we made faster work of the pile.

Even so, however, the labor was monotonous. There’s little to tell of that night. Again and again I returned to the pile, bundled up a handful of rubble, and moved away, putting it aside, away from the mess. With each step, and each load, thoughts swirled maddeningly inside my skull—thoughts of shame, and guilt, and horror. There was little conversation, and what there was was shared in low voices, as if everyone was afraid to disturb the rubble by speaking too loudly.

It reminded me of my mother’s funeral.

Sophia allowed me my silence, but she stayed at my shoulder throughout the night, a comforting presence, steadfast in her loyalty. Whenever my guilt threatened to overcome me, she knew; she would rest a hand on my arm or draw me close in a one-armed hug for just a moment to bring my back from the brink.

Bodies started to emerge. Some dead; ABB men the Wards had fought on their way through the building, crushed and brutalized by their leader’s last gambit. With each removed fragment of debris came a new question—was that a hand, or just an odd piece of rubble? Was that piece of fabric from a costume, or a curtain? Was that a puddle of dark red blood, or just water from a broken pipe, darkened by the deep night?

And, worst of all—when I finally found my friends, would they have survived my mistake only to die to my slowness?

I didn’t rest often. I excused myself once to swap Rings to Nenya and from that point on I was unbowed, digging away at the rubble determinedly. But I still wasn’t fast. The work was still slow, taking hours on end of unceasing, seemingly useless toil.

It got more wet as we went deeper, too. Soon we were picking through sludge and mud as much as through solid rubble. The water from the broken piping had seeped into the ground, flowing back into the earth unabated.

We moved gingerly, careful not to dislodge the debris under us for fear of crushing any survivors. Aegis was particularly helpful here, since he could fly up and move quickly without disturbing the ground he walked on. The other Wards and the Protectorate heroes were all trained in search and rescue, and with the help of Nenya I was able to follow their lead without much trouble. In one near miss, Assault slipped on a loose block of concrete and caused a slide of rubble and debris which revealed our first surviving ally—Glory Girl.

One of her legs was broken where it had been wedged between two large rocks, and there were several small fragments embedded in her belly and torso. Blood had stained all over her costume from the inside, and she looked unpleasantly pale in the dark night, but she was breathing with a faint rasp. Brandish had excused herself from the effort then, and taken her to see Panacea, who was currently busy at the hospital.

About an hour later, after sifting through yet more sludge and debris, we found Gallant, curled among large stones. A piece of rubble had dug deep into the back of his armor, fracturing the metal and staying embedded into his upper back and ribs. We handled him gingerly, especially once Miss Militia said a couple of his vertebrae were almost certainly broken.

He was alive, and Vista and Kid Win together took him to the Dallons for treatment, slipping through space with their wounded teammate in Kid Win’s arms, Vista’s hand resting on his shoulder. With luck, Panacea would be willing to treat him—and Vista, too.

One by one, the others emerged. Laserdream came next, splayed out as on a bed, her hands and one foot all crushed by heavy chunks of concrete and a sharp wooden splinter embedded a few inches into her belly like a dagger. She was breathing shallowly, and her eyes, though open, were filmed over with delirium and fever. Manpower took her to the hospital immediately, looking worried.

Clockblocker stood perfectly still and upright, unaffected by the explosion. His power deactivated once we’d freed his head.

“What happened?” he asked. “How long did the timestop last?”

“Not long,” I assured him. “You were out for only a few minutes before the blast.”

“And Bakuda?”

“Dead,” said Armsmaster shortly.

“Good,” said the Ward, a vicious satisfaction in his voice, and began helping us to free him.

Shielder came last. At first he seemed only cosmetically injured; his side was scored by rough stones and a couple of his ribs were cracked, but his worst injury was the concussion that had left him unconscious. Lady Photon took him, looking grim.

With each of my friends that emerged, and with each New Wave cape I’d put into the line of fire, I made it a point to commit the moment to memory. I took note of the wounds—almost clinical, for now, since I still had to focus. But I would never forget it. I refused to forget this long night, where I stared my own failure in the face and had to do my best to overcome.

After that, we left the work to the emergency services. Dawn was already peeking into the eastern sky, the faint gold of the sun glimmering over the sea.

We had survived—barely. My failure had, whether by luck or act of God, been punished only lightly. The worst I would face was the worst Piggot and Armsmaster could do. Compared to the loss of every friend I had in the world, that was nothing.

The twinkling stars gave way to the dawn as the sun rose over us. The city of Brockton Bay was silent. Not a single car engine stirred in the streets. It was a relief on the rare occasions when we passed a residence where a child cried or where someone peered out a window at our procession. It reminded me that the city wasn’t dead.

As the stars faded and night passed into day, and as the rising sun bathed the East in light, I made myself a simple, solemn promise.

_ Never again. _

_End Arc 4: Sheen_


	37. Hearth 5.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Technetium43, @Assembler, and @frustratedFreeboota for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.
> 
> Updates will hereafter proceed on Wednesdays on this site. Apologies for the lateness this time.

Kid Win leaned heavily on Aegis in front of me. Clockblocker supported Sophia behind me. At the fore, Armsmaster led our party. Assault was carrying an injured Battery gingerly, as if she was made of glass. Velocity was limping, and Miss Militia was supporting him.

And in the midst of it all, I walked alone, taking it all in. My team was alive, my friends had survived. No thanks to me.

The forcefield bridge was still working—which was fortunate, since without Vista we had no other way to get across to the Rig. Like Armsmaster’s armor, it must have been shielded from the EMP in some way.

We went straight to the medical wing and dropped off our injured, and then Armsmaster turned to me.

“Annatar,” he said. “My office.”

“I’m coming,” said Sophia.

“No.” Armsmaster’s voice was crisp and cold as ice. “You’re not.”

“It’s fine,” I told her. “You rest.”

She gritted her teeth, but nodded an acceptance and followed the other Wards out another door, glancing back at me over her shoulder as she left.

Armsmaster’s office was an interesting room. It was perfectly organized, papers stacked neatly into a well-maintained inbox and outbox, or carefully slipped into files in organized cabinets. On the wall behind the desk was set a console panel, its small screen dark. The room was halfway to being a workshop itself, too, with a rack of halberds on one wall and steel mannequins clad in spare suits of blue armor on another. Other than these functional displays, and the open, white-curtained window in the wall to the left of the entry, the only decoration on the desk was a single carved wooden paperweight in the shape of a dragon.

He sat across from me in a visibly reinforced chair meant to bear the weight of his armor and looked at me. One of his elbows rested on the desk, and his hand cupped his chin, which worked slightly as though he was chewing.

There was no other chair, so I stood, clasping my hands behind my back.

“What happened?” he asked. He didn’t sound angry, surprisingly enough. He sounded worn out, more than anything else.

“In detail, or in summary?”

“In detail, please.”

I nodded. “The Wards stormed Über and Leet’s base,” I said. “I think the PRT picked them both up.”

He shrugged. “I haven’t had time to verify anything, and it’s not as though I can call it in anymore. I’ll verify when I can; in the meantime, just be honest.”

I nodded and opened my mouth to speak, before hesitating. “I’m using Fire right now,” I said. “I know you prefer to have these conversations without that influence. Can I have a place to swap.”

“Do it here. I’m curious to see your ‘Rings of Power’ outside of a recording,” he said, looking me in the eyes.

I stared at him, my lips parting slightly. He smiled slightly; an impulsive, exhausted motion. “We’re not _blind_ , Annatar.”

I smiled back. Tears came to my eyes—relieved ones. I’d been keeping that secret on principle, even from people I’d started to trust. If Piggot and Armsmaster knew, I was honestly glad of it. They deserved to know. “Okay,” I said, pulling forth my Jewelry Box. “ _Edro a adlenc._ ”

The light of the Rings of Power shone brilliantly upon the walls for a moment as the box opened. I slipped off Narya, took up Vilya and slipped it on. “Air’s okay, right?”

“That’s fine, yes. Vilya?”

“Right.” I closed the box and slung it back behind me.

Armsmaster’s single window faced west. I looked out through it, watching the rising sun slowly paint the tops of the buildings in gold as it trickled down, as I continued.

“The others stormed Über and Leet,” I continued. “Glory Girl, Laserdream, and Shielder came and joined them as they were finishing up. After that, we decided to continue, and hunt down Bakuda while you were all fighting Lung.”

“Against orders.”

“Yes. We knew you all had your hands full, and we figured that without Oni Lee or Lung, Bakuda would be as weak as she’d ever get.”

He nodded. “I understand the assumption,” he said. “What happened next?”

“We located her hideout,” I remembered. “We found a building Lung seemed to be trying to lead you away from. Aegis and Glory Girl stormed it from above while the others came in through a balcony. It was pretty well defended. Clockblocker and Vista both used their upgraded powers.”

“These are the powers your Rings gave them?”

“Yes. There was a trapdoor in the bottom floor which led to what I guess was a modified parking structure. Bakuda was there with a lot of bombs—and one big one.”

“The EMP.”

“Right. The Wards got her talking, to buy time for Shadow Stalker to get around her and come from behind. Apparently it was supposed to be way bigger. She claimed it was going to have a payload of… 80 terajoules, I think she said, and that the EMP would take out something like half the country.”

“Preliminary reports suggest only the city was caught in the effect,” Armsmaster said. “We’re still working on getting emergency communications online, but things are definitely not as bad as they could have been.”

“That’s good,” I sighed. “She used a timestop bomb to freeze the other Wards and fled. Shadow Stalker barely got out and saw her leave. She warned me that Bakuda was coming towards PRT HQ. So I went outside and stopped her.”

“Killed her, you mean.” His voice was softer now. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head. “Not really... but not because of Bakuda.” I sighed. “Bakuda was just—It was good to get closure, I guess. If anything, it was scary how easy it was.” I paused, chewing on my lip, then added, “Oh, I made sure to disable her deadman’s switch first.”

“Good. Our problems would be much worse otherwise. You saved lives with that.” He considered me for a moment in silence, one gauntleted finger tapping rhythmically on the mahogany table. After the silence had stretched just long enough that I prepared to break it, he asked, “Why did you kill her? You could have taken her in. She was fully neutralized.”

I looked out the window again. The sunrise had now filled the empty streets with molten gold. The city looked almost peaceful, now, rather than dead. “I thought she’d killed my friends,” I murmured. “I _knew_ she’d killed a lot of people. And I… She was dangerous, even when she looked subdued, so partly I wanted to make absolutely certain. But… mostly it was justice. Or vengeance.”

“Justice is something the courts deal with,” Armsmaster said. There was something odd what little of his face I could see; a slight worrying of the corner of his mouth, in seeming _sympathy_ of all things.

I didn’t answer. He sighed.

“We’ll have to see what happens,” he said. “At the moment, there’s no warrant out for your arrest. We’ll have to see what the PRT chooses to do. In the meantime, I can’t let you leave the Rig until something is decided. I doubt that’ll take more than a day.”

“I understand.” I wondered if they would arrest me. I doubted this would get me sent to the Birdcage, but I _was_ a master. That made me dangerous. Life as a fugitive didn’t sound appealing.

I didn’t _regret_ killing Bakuda, but I was worried about the consequences it would have.

“Do you…?” he hesitated, on the cusp of a question, visibly searching for words. I waited, but at length he visibly gave up and moved on. “Who led this mission, Annatar?” he asked. “Who caused the Wards to go totally against orders and attempt to bring in Bakuda alone?”

I swallowed. “Aegis was technically in command,” I said. “But… I egged them on, I gave them tactical advice, I encouraged them to stay in. Laserdream had second thoughts, and it was me who convinced her to stay, not Aegis.”

Armsmaster nodded. “I had a feeling,” he said. “Browbeat’s report indicated as much. I’m sure you realize that your teammates could very easily have died tonight?”

I shuddered. “Yeah, I—I’ve been thinking about that.”

“I’m sure you have.” He watched me for a moment, still giving me that same, odd look, before continuing. Thank you for being honest. I’ll talk to Deputy Director Renick, and we’ll decide what’s to be done.”

I frowned at him. “What about the director?”

He grimaced. “With the power out, Director Piggot’s dialysis machine will have failed. There are systems in place for such eventualities. She should already have been airlifted out by Dragon, along with many other newly-critical patients from the local hospitals.”

“Piggot needs dialysis? Why?”

“She was injured in a PRT operation several years ago. I doubt she’d like me telling you any more.” He stood up. “Suffice to say that, until either she returns or we’re assigned another Director, Renick and I will be taking command. Until further notice, Annatar, consider yourself off-duty. No patrols, no console work—not that we have a console, anymore. This is in effect regardless of what happens regarding your killing of Bakuda.”

“Yes, sir.”

He glanced out the window. “Take today off,” he said. “Feel free to tinker, if you can without power. If we can, we’ll have the schools back in operation in the next few days, and you can go back to regular attendance, assuming you’re not arrested.”

Many of the schools had shut down during Bakuda’s bombing spree. Winslow had been one of them. “Which one?” I asked. “Winslow or Arcadia?”

“That remains to be seen.” He looked back at me. “Your father still hasn’t left the hospital, correct?”

“Right.” Then I twitched, and bile surged up in my throat for the second or third time that night at least. “The EMP—”

“Your father was there for severe burns and a few broken bones, yes?”

“Right.” I sighed. “Will he be okay?”

“He should.” Armsmaster sounded confident. “Those are treatable without electricity. It may be a little harder, and recovery may take a little longer, but his injuries shouldn’t be life-threatening even now.”

I sighed in relief. “You think so?”

“I do.” He scratched at his beard idly, considering me. “Stay here today, then, instead of going home. You can stay in the barracks.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He nodded. “Send Aegis in, please.”

* * *

 

The Rig was larger than PRT Headquarters, and had several lounges—one of which was reserved for the Wards when we were there. That was where I went.

The room was in one of the Rig’s spires, and had two windows; one faced east, and gave a lovely view of the rising sun, gold and bright, setting every surface in the room gleaming. The other faced west, towards the city, like Armsmaster’s. The individual panes skyscrapers’ glass windows and walls shone like stars in the reflected light of the dawn.

Carlos, Dennis, Sophia, and Sam were all seated around a coffee table, huddled over their mugs with masks off, when I arrived in the lounge. Sophia made to stand up when she saw me, but I held out a hand to stop her and came over.

“Carlos,” I said lowly, “Armsmaster wants to see you.”

He nodded and stood up, stretching. Then he met my eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I smiled wearily. “I don’t know,” I said honestly, “but thank you.”

His eyes searched my face for a moment, what of it he could see under my mask. Then reached out and clapped me on the shoulder.

“We did it,” he said. “We won.”

I tried to keep smiling as I nodded.

He shook his head with a sigh and glanced at Sophia. “Take care of her,” he ordered, then reached down, picked up his mug, and left.

I took his seat, slumping into it and allowing myself to sink into the cushioned back of the armchair. My eyes closed. For a moment I just sat there in silence, none of the others saying a word.

“You want something to drink?” Sam asked. “We’ve got coffee, tea…”

“Please,” I whispered. “Hot chocolate?”

“I’ll get it,” Sophia said, standing and leaving the table, patting my pauldron gently as she passed me on her way to the water dispenser.

“How are you feeling?” Dennis asked.

“Ha,” I huffed a single syllable of laughter. “Exhausted? Guilty? Relieved?”

“Aegis said about the same,” Sam said.

I sighed. “How’d the Protectorate’s mission go?” I asked.

“Faultline’s Crew was hit pretty hard,” Sam told me. “Oni Lee hit them with a couple of Bakuda’s bombs. A couple of her capes were killed, but I don’t know which ones. No Protectorate or New Wave casualties, thank God.”

“And the villains?”

“Still free,” Dennis said. “Oni Lee disabled Armsmaster’s tranquilizers before he could use them. He had a spare halberd without tranquilizers, but there was no way to stop Lung. He just kept ramping up.”

I opened my eyes and looked out the window. Now that I knew what to look for, I saw it—a scar, a couple of blocks long, of blackened, ruined buildings and streets torn apart by fire and claw. A sign of Lung’s passage.

“Eventually they just had to withdraw,” said Browbeat. “The EMP hit while they were on their way back to base.”

Sophia returned and handed me an off-white porcelain mug, filled with a steaming brown liquid. I took it in both hands with a smile at her and brought it up to my nose, drinking deep of the bittersweet scent.

“Still, though,” Clockblocker said. “Can you imagine if we _hadn’t_ gotten her tonight? The EMP would have been even bigger. She was going to disable half the country with that. It really would have been worse than an Endbringer.”

“Assuming we let her use it,” I said, my voice soft to hide how it quavered. I brought the cup to my lips and sipped at the warm drink. It scalded my lips and tongue a bit, but it was good.

“We did our best,” Clockblocker argued. “It’s—”

“If we had taken the time to get our hands on a blueprint of the building before storming it,” I said quietly, “we could have gone straight into her workshop. Because we came from above, she knew we were coming, and prepared accordingly.”

The others were silent.

“If we hadn’t had to fight through the upper floors,” I continued, “we would still have had both you and Missy at full strength, Dennis. We could have shut her down before she had a chance to do anything at all.” I looked up and met each of their eyes. “The EMP is my fault,” I whispered, “because I was impatient. I thought we had to stop her _now_ , when it would have been so easy to withdraw, report her location, and come again when we were more prepared.”

“Give me a break,” Sophia scoffed. I blinked at her.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. You think Lung wouldn’t have been there to stop us? The Protectorate were looking for Bakuda, and he stopped them from getting to her. You think he wouldn’t have done it again?” She met my eyes. Despite her hard tone, her brown eyes were soft and warm.

“Don’t torture yourself, Taylor. We did our best. If we’d done nothing, it would’ve been a lot worse. We can’t do everything perfectly.”

I looked down into my mug. For a moment there was silence.

“I could have done better,” I said.

“Maybe,” allowed Sam. “Will you, next time?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s all anyone can ask.” He stood up. “I’m going to turn in for a couple hours.”

“Same,” said Dennis. “You two should as well.”

I nodded and held up my cup. “I’ll just finish this.”

He nodded, gave me a wry grin, and left.

“I don’t actually know where the dorms are on the Rig,” I told Sophia after a moment.

“I’ll take you,” she said, fiddling with her hair bun. “They’re a couple floors down.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“No problem.” Her hair came loose and she shook it out with a relieved sigh.

I looked up at her. “No, really,” I mumbled. “Thank you for everything, Sophia.”

She smiled at me, her cheeks a touch flushed against her dark skin. “Really,” she said. “It’s no problem.”


	38. Hearth 5.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @frustratedFreeboota, and @Assembler for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

My dreams danced along the line between fitful and hellish. Images of fire haunted me, or of a sky choked in ash and fume, a land poisoned by blood and dust, and a tower with a summit in flames, interspersed with Bakuda’s mad eyes laughing from behind her mask and the twisted corpses of my friends.

I was awoken from the image of an erupting volcano by Sophia, shaking me. I startled to wakefulness suddenly, reaching for a knife that wasn’t there. For a moment, I cast about wildly, and then my gaze settled upon her. “Sophia?”

“You were having a nightmare,” she said by way of explanation.

I blinked at her a few times before the tension bled out of my frame. Idly I ran my thumb along the band of Vilya, reminding myself that, yes, it was there. “Sorry,” I said. “Did I wake you?”

She shook her head. “No. Miss Militia came by about forty minutes back, I woke up then.” She straightened from her position leaning slightly over my bedside and stretched.

I took the opportunity to look around. Nothing had changed since we had arrived—the women's barracks was still the basically unadorned long room it had been before. Bunks lined one wall, some twenty or so—I hadn’t been in any shape to count when we’d arrived—and each was furnished with simple mattress and bedclothes. There were no windows, and no clock on the wall. _It probably wouldn’t work even if there was._

I’d gone to sleep in my underarmor, basically a form-fitting athletic shirt and sweats, and I didn’t offhand know where I’d left my other clothes. My locker, probably, where I’d left my armor when I went to bed—and where I’d found Narsil, lying innocently sheathed. “What time is it?” I asked Sophia.

“Little before noon. Lunch is in the mess, if you want it.”

“Is it good?”

She shrugged. “Dunno. Haven’t gone.”

“Not hungry?”

She shrugged again. “I could eat. Just… haven’t gone down yet.”

I considered her for a moment. “Well, all right. What did Miss Militia want?”

“Said you needed to see her. You can eat first, though. She said to let you sleep, so there’s no big rush.”

“All right,” I said. “Let’s….”

I stopped halfway through standing up, staring at the wall. What was I doing?

“Taylor?”

“No,” I said wearily. “No, I’m going to go talk to Miss Militia first. You go eat, I’ll join you in a bit.”

“I’ll come with you,” she offered.

“No,” I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. Really. You go eat; I’m not that hungry yet anyway.”

I felt her gaze on the back of my head for a moment before she sighed. “All right,” she said. “I’ll see you in the mess.”

I watched her go and then gathered the bundle of my armor in my arms before heading out the door. I had time at least to drop my stuff off at my locker and get my street clothes back on, rather than meet Miss Militia in what amounted to thermal underwear.

* * *

 

I knocked on the door, and was answered by a rough, “Come in!”

Miss Militia’s office was, if possible, even better kept that Armsmaster’s—or so it seemed at first glance. Papers were sorted, filed, and even squared away into neatly hidden piles under the surface of her glass-topped desk. A spare costume hung, fully assembled, on one wall, and on the other was an east-facing window, looking out to sea, with embroidered green curtains bunched at its sides.

It was those curtains that drew my attention to the room’s decoration. Where Armsmaster’s office had been a utilitarian affair with little to nothing of personality, Miss Militia’s was decorated with an easy restraint. A full-size American flag hung on one wall, opposite the window, and behind the desk was a large photograph of a green pasture under a clear blue sky.

I realized then that Miss Militia’s office wasn’t actually better kept than Armsmaster’s. It was that the touch of personal disorder threw the organized business into sharp relief.

The hero looked up as I entered and greeted me with a nod and no other expression on her face. “Annatar, sit down.”

I came forward and obeyed, sitting in the chair across from her desk. By the time I had, she was already looking back down at the paper on the desk before her, her pen scratching away at it.

For a time there was silence save for that scratching. I detected a hint of tension in Miss Militia’s arms. Now that I was closer, I could see that her apparently blank face was marred by a faint tightness around her eyes and brows.

“You’re angry with me.”

She glanced at me, pen still poised. “Angry?” she asked. “No. Disappointed, worried, and perhaps ashamed, but not angry.” She smiled slightly, a tight, mirthless expression. “We’re all too tired to be angry now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Miss Militia put the pen down, clasped her hands together, and leaned forward slightly, meeting my eyes. Her face was still set in that mask of calm, and didn’t waver in the slightest as her gaze held mine—which was quite a bit more frightening than if her eyes had flashed and her voice had risen. “For putting your teammates in harm’s way? For placing the city in serious danger?”

“Both,” I said, forcing down the instinct to rebel. My voice came out uncomfortably small, but I refused to let my pride get in the way here. What place had _pride_ in me now? What had _pride_ gained me?

“I know,” she said. “But I somehow doubt you’re sorry for executing a woman without trial.”

A muscle jumped involuntarily in my jaw. I looked away, out the window at the glittering sea.

“Aegis was involved in all the rest. He was leader, and it’s _his_ responsibility, not yours, to make sure that the Wards operate both safely and sanely. You did neither, but that’s no more your fault than Browbeat’s. But it was _you_ , alone, who executed Bakuda.”

“I thought she’d killed my friends,” I said.

“I know,” said Miss Militia evenly. She paused. “Believe me, I know. But principles aren’t something we can put aside just because we’re hurting. That’s no better than not having principles at all. This wasn’t _due process_ , Annatar, this was vengeance, as brutal and senseless as it always is when a person takes the law in their own hands.”

I looked down. For a moment I managed to keep my silence, but soon my grip failed and I looked back up.

“Ma’am, she’d killed almost fifty people and was threatening to kill _hundreds of thousands_. I thought she’d killed the only friends I have. It was _right_ —”

“That,” said Miss Militia, biting the words out and shaping the syllables with tightly controlled teeth and lips, “is _not_ for you to decide, Annatar. Who are you to make a decision like that?”

“I’m the person who lost her friends,” I said. My voice didn’t rise, nor did I tense, but I would _not_ regret my decision to impale that woman on Narsil. “I’m the wronged party.”

“So is the entirety of Brockton Bay and the United States,” Miss Militia said dryly. “The collective _species_ , if you’re feeling poetic. What do you think the trial by jury is _for_? Why should you make that decision for every other daughter whose father was injured, every other child who lost a friend?”

I grimaced. “She’d have gone to the birdcage—”

“Ah. So because you disagreed with the sentence you _thought_ the rest of the public would give her, that gave you the right to take the sentencing into your own hands?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Maybe not. I’m not here to understand you, Annatar, I’m here to do my job, which is to uphold the law and ideals of this country. You _flouted_ both last night, and I’m honestly astonished that everyone else seems to be letting it slide completely.”

I looked back out the window and didn’t reply.

At length, she sighed. “I’m quite certain this won’t be the last you hear of this,” she said, “so let’s get to business. First, the PRT has responded to the situation, and to your murder of Bakuda.”

I looked back up at her.

“Chief Director Costa-Brown released a kill order on Bakuda about three hours ago,” Miss Militia said, her face set back into that same blank mask of controlled displeasure. “It was back-dated to yesterday.”

I blinked, then my eyes widened. “Then that means—”

“It means that you have been unofficially pardoned for your murder,” Miss Militia finished for me, and her façade broke slightly on that last word, so that she was almost spitting it out. “I’ll thank you not to celebrate it quite yet, or in my presence.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Nonetheless, I couldn’t quite keep my relief from showing in a loosening of my arms and chest. “Don’t kill orders take a lot more than that? A trial and so on?”

“Yes. They do.” Miss Militia’s voice was positively Antarctic. “I would assume they already had the kill order in processing and rushed it through. A neat _compromise_.” She spat the word and then closed her eyes for a moment, regaining her composure before continuing. “Second, the local schools have committed to attempting to host students in the coming weeks. Both Arcadia and Winslow are reopening next week. Deputy Director Renick has decided to take the opportunity to complete your transfer.”

“So next Monday I’ll be starting at Arcadia?”

“Yes. In the meantime, since your father can’t be expected to care for you when he hasn’t yet left the hospital, you’ll be staying here.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Miss Militia nodded. “Many of your teammates attend Arcadia,” she said. “I suggest you attempt to get caught up on the classes before you start. You’ll have time; your suspension from duty is still in effect.”

I’d figured as much. “Of course, Ma’am.”

“Good. One final point; you’re going to have mandatory counseling sessions.”

I frowned. “Is that necessary?”

“Yes. Don’t push on this, Annatar.” She held my gaze. “You have no idea what a mess refusing this could unleash.”

To be fair, I really didn’t. “Understood, Ma’am. When do I start?”

She shrugged. “We haven’t been able to schedule anything yet, with the power down. I’d expect you to have your first session later this week, or early next week.”

“All right. Someone will keep me posted?”

“Of course.”

“Then that’s fine.” I nodded once.

“That’s all, then. Is there anything else, Annatar?”

I shook my head. “No, Ma’am.”

“Good. Go. Eat lunch, if you haven’t yet.”

* * *

 

When I reached the mess hall, I immediately looked around for Sophia. There she was—seated at one end of a long table across from Carlos, both with trays of food before them. I approached immediately, waving. Sophia saw me first and waved back, causing Carlos to turn about and grin at me.

“Hey, Annatar,” he said, beckoning with his regrown right hand.

“Carlos,” I greeted, sitting beside him and across from Sophia. “Sophia.”

“So?” Sophia demanded. “What did MM want?”

I grimaced. “Partly to chew me out for killing Bakuda.”

“Fuck her,” grunted Sophia.

“In fairness,” said Carlos carefully, “you weren’t exactly _supposed_ to—”

“We thought you were dead,” Sophia growled at him. “If Bakuda had been in front of me she’d have been lucky to die half as fast.”

“Aw, you _do_ care!” I glanced over to see Dennis, a wide grin on his face, approaching from another door. His hands were out to his sides in an expansive, showman’s gesture. “And here I thought you would be a prickly little sociopath forever.”

“About _you_? Don’t flatter yourself,” said Sophia flippantly, glancing at him with a roll of her eyes before looking back at me. “So, what? Are you in trouble?”

I tilted my head from side to side. “Sort of,” I allowed. “I’m still off active duty, and I’m still going to be staying at the Rig—mostly because my dad’s still in the hospital—but I’m not going to be _arrested_. The PRT released a back-dated kill order for Bakuda, so I’m in the clear there.”

“So wait,” Dennis asked, sitting down on Sophia’s right, across from me. “Does that mean you get a bounty, or something?”

I blinked. “Don’t know. Miss Militia didn’t mention it. I’ll ask.”

“I doubt it,” said Carlos. “Even if they don’t want to _prosecute_ you, I doubt they’ll reward you for breaking protocol like that.”

“And she’s already dead anyway,” said Sophia. “Why give away money they don’t have to?” she snorted. “But anyway, you’re in the clear? No cops going to come knocking down our doors?”

“Looks like it,” I said. “Miss Militia’s _pissed_ , though.”

Sophia shrugged. “You can deal with that, no problem. Anything else happen?”

“Well, the schools are starting back up next week—”

“ _Why are you smiling?_ ” Dennis delivered this in a desolate, theatrical moan, throwing his hands skyward in supplication. “Not _school_!”

Aegis rolled his eyes and Sophia punched him on the shoulder. “Asswipe,” she said, almost affectionately, and looked back at me. “So, we’ll be headed back to Winslow in a week?” she asked.

“Well, you will,” I said. “My transfer to Arcadia went through.”

It wasn’t until I saw how fast and how far Sophia’s face fell that I realized how bright her expression had been, even if she hadn’t been smiling.

“Right,” she said, blinking a couple times. “Obviously. I forgot you were transferring out.”

“So you’ll be going to school with us!” said Dennis cheerfully, ignoring Sophia. I looked at him. “That’ll be fun.” Then his brow creased in a sudden frown. “I hope Dean and the others are better by then. Wouldn’t be right without them.”

“They’ll be fine,” said Carlos. “Panacea will take care of them.” He smiled at me. “Any idea which classes you’ll be in?”

“None yet,” I said. “I figure I’ll get a schedule once some kind of infrastructure is back up, even if it’s just paper records.”

“Probably,” said Carlos. “You’re a sophomore, right? Chris will probably be in your core classes, so he can help you get ready.”

“I’ll talk to him.” I stood up. “For now, though, you people have kept be from my food long enough. I’ll be right back.”


	39. Hearth 5.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Assembler, and @frustratedFreeboota for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

The sun rose over a cloudless sky on the second of May. I rose early, left my lonely barracks—Sophia having moved back into her family’s house once things were stabilized—and headed for the mess to grab sausage and eggs for breakfast before slinging my old backpack back over my shoulders and jogging out of the Rig.

The sun had already risen by the time I strode out across the light-bridge towards the city at a little before seven in the morning. Without cars or buses, the walk was almost an hour—and I couldn’t afford to use Nenya to speed myself along, because whether in or out of armor, running down the road toward Arcadia High could compromise my identity.

Besides, it would make it harder for my well-hidden tail of PRT troopers to keep up. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to know they were there, but neither Armsmaster nor Deputy Director Renick had been especially secretive, even if they hadn’t told me outright that I would be tailed.

It was fair. I was confined to the Rig, except for school, and the transit was long enough for me to make trouble if I wanted.

I wore Nenya anyway, with the Jewelry Box safely secured in my backpack, partly because it would make the walk less of a pain, and partly because it was the best Ring with which to deal with unpleasant surprises. No such surprises came upon me.

Arcadia High was a large, white affair, with tiled stone walls and windows that glinted crystalline in the bright dawn. I took a moment to look it over from outside the brick-and iron gate at the front.

I hadn’t been to a high school in any capacity since Bakuda had started her bombing. That had only been two weeks ago.

_ It feels like a lifetime. _

The gates were open, and I considered them for a time. These gates, this simple open doorway, had featured in my dreams for years. The closed bars and blocked path had been a merciless reminder of my mistake, two years ago, in following Emma to Winslow High—I’d had grades which would have at least given me a good chance at acceptance to the private school, and she simply hadn’t. I hadn’t even considered changing schools, hadn’t even broached the subject with Dad; though now, looking back, I was sure I could have swapped if I’d pursued the opportunity. There was a lesson to be learned in that mistake—many lessons, perhaps.

_ More than anything, it’s strange to think that a week ago,  _ that _was the worst mistake I’d ever made._ I smiled impulsively. How small that year and a half at Winslow seemed now—how remote. My own suffering was transient; it would always fade. But loss was forever, and I’d never again fear pain half so much as I had feared loss on that horrible night last Sunday.

“You going inside?”

I turned. There was Chris, smiling at me, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” he said, eyes twinkling merrily. “You a new student?”

“Yep,” I said, playing along. I didn’t know whether anyone was watching, and I didn’t care—it might be nice to be Taylor again, if only for a little while. “They figured it was as easy to finish my transfer now as ever. Taylor Hebert.”

“Chris Thompson.” He took my extended hand and shook it firmly. I was honestly astounded at how well he pulled the act off. If I weren’t party to the game, I’d have sworn that he was meeting me for the first time. “You’re here early. Long walk?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Better to be safe than sorry, you know?”

“Yep, same,” he said with a nod and a roll of his eyes. “It’s crazy, you know? Boom, and suddenly we don’t have cars, phones, computers, _anything_.” He sighed, and the facade dropped for a moment. “I miss technology.”

“Yeah,” I said, turning away and looking back at the school. “It really makes you think.”

He didn’t answer. I felt his eyes on me.

After a moment, I shrugged. “Well, standing at the gate won’t make school any less real,” I said dryly. “Shall we?”

* * *

 

“Things are very uncertain here in Brockton right now, I’m sure you’ll all agree.” The principal stood at one end of the gym behind a lectern, looking around at our assembled faces. He was a slightly overweight man in his fifties, with thick spectacles perched on his impressive nose. Despite these traits, he wasn’t a particularly ugly man, with a strong jaw, well-kept black hair, and broad shoulders.

“Nonetheless,” he continued, “Arcadia High is, as always, committed to maintaining a standard of excellence in education.”

_ The impressive part is that he doesn’t need a microphone, _ I thought. _He’s just projecting, and yet we can hear him all the way to the back of the room._

I sat surrounded by other students in a crush of bodies. It would have been uncomfortable, except that I had Dennis on my left and someone I didn’t know on my right. Dean, who I’d only seen a couple of times since Panacea had healed him last Monday, sat a few rows below, beside Chris. My eyes, with Nenya’s help, picked out Glory Girl—no, Victoria Dallon—sitting some distance away from them, her eyes darting to the back of Dean’s head so often that I wondered why she even bothered looking away. Her eyes, I noticed, were faintly red with recent tears, even if her makeup and grooming were impeccable enough to hide all other signs of stress.

“That means that we’re holding _you_ to that standard, and that we expect you to do the same for yourselves. We have been hit with disaster, but the world spins on. It will not wait for us.” He paused, looking around the room—almost searchingly. “Some of you may have already noticed that a few new students are joining us. Immaculata High School was struck during the conflict last week, and as such many of its students have been filtered among the other local schools, including Arcadia. In addition, a few other transfers have been facilitated for other reasons. I urge you not to pry—things are unstable right now, and not everyone may be willing to discuss what they’ve been through. Just welcome your new classmates and show them a proper Arcadia welcome. We may be a bit crowded for the remainder of the school year, but once Immaculata has some of its facilities back in operation it’ll be accepting many of its students back and things should stabilize.”

He sighed. “I know a lot of you are dealing with things outside of school right now,” he said, and though his voice retained volume, somehow it seemed gentler. “I know some of those things may make school seem like a waste of time at best. They seem more important, more pressing. And there _are_ things that take precedence over school. We know that. But that’s no excuse for giving up. We’ve all lost something—property, homes, people. That’s important. But dwelling on it, to the exclusion of education, would be a _mistake_. All that’s in the past, and there’s time to deal with it. Education, school—those are the _future_. Students of Arcadia, I urge you not to give up on your futures for the sake of your pasts.

“New students should report to the main office to receive their schedules. Returning students have a short break. Our first period will begin at eight forty-five, and we’ll have a short period in that class today before getting back on schedule. Thank you, and welcome back to Arcadia.”

As the applause rang through the hall, I leaned over and spoke in Dennis’ ear. “He’s a few steps up from Blackwell.”

“I bet,” Dennis laughed. “You’d better get going if you don’t want to be at the back of the line.”

* * *

 

I reached the lunchroom a little after many of the other students. French had been about as far from it as you could get, and unlike many of my classmates, I’d felt no real need to run.

The moment I entered the cafeteria, I was struck, not for the first time that day, by the difference from Winslow High. Where Winslow’s cafeteria had been grimy, worn, dimly-lit, and thick with the unwashed scent of pubescent human bodies, Arcadia’s was clean, well-maintained, and brightened by sunlight streaming in from the windows, though it was dimmed by the darkness of the incandescent light fixtures on the ceiling.

Of course, the biggest difference between the two schools was that I had friends at this one. Dennis waved me over the moment I left the lunch line (with a ham and cheese sandwich that actually looked quite tasty, and included more by way of fixings than a single limp leaf of aged lettuce).

I joined him, Dean, and a decently-sized group of others, young men and women alike. Chris sat elsewhere, in part, I figured, to preserve the team’s secret identities.

“Hey, Taylor,” Dennis said with a grin. “Find your classrooms okay?”

“Yeah, no trouble.”

“This is Taylor,” he introduced me to the rest of the group. “I met her before school today. She just transferred in. Taylor, these are—”

Charles was a tall, wiry guy with curly blonde hair and a shy, timid sort of gin. His glasses kept slipping off his nose so that he had to push them back up every few seconds. Annabelle was a curvy brunette with an unfortunately bad case of acne, not fully covered by her makeup. Nonetheless, her full lips were more often in a good-natured smile than not. Jackson was a slightly overweight Asian guy—Korean, I thought, although I was far from sure—whose brow seemed furrowed in a permanent frown of concentration, and whose lips seemed forever turned down in focus. Pauline was a slim redhead with bright green eyes which shifted constantly as if in nervousness or tension.

“So, Taylor, where did you transfer in from?” Annabelle asked once introductions were finished.

“Winslow,” I replied.

Her eyes widened. “Really?” She suddenly looked shifty. “I don’t want to put you on the spot or anything, but we hear _stories_ about Winslow, sometimes. Are they—”

“All true,” I confirmed. “I was an idiot, followed a friend there in freshman year. Turned out she wasn’t such a good friend after all.”

She winced sympathetically. “That sucks. I guess you’re glad to be out of there?”

“Very,” I replied with a grin. “The grass really _was_ greener on the other side of the fence, what do you know?”

There was some laughter at that.

“So, what classes did you have so far?” Charles asked.

“English first period,” I said. “Didn’t have enough time to get much there, but I like Mr. Ross. He seems nice.” _And more than that, he seems good. Nice is easy. Gladly was_ nice _._

“Mr. Ross is great,” said Pauline, her face breaking out into a small smile, the nervous twitching of her hands and eyes subsiding slightly. “He’s super funny when you get him on one of his favorite books.”

“We’re reading _Brave New World_ right now. Is that one of his favorites?”

She shook her head. “But you’ll read _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead_ next, and a little of _Hamlet_ , and both of those are. So, you know, small mercies.” She made a face. “ _Brave New World_ sucks.”

At this, Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on,” she said. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Well, no, it’s not _that_ bad—it’s no _1984—_ but _really_ —”

“What’d you have next?” Dennis asked, rolling his eyes at the two squabbling girls.

“Math,” I said. “Algebra, with Ms. Irons.”

“Oh, you’re already calling her Ms.?” Jackson asked with a little chuckle—a derisive one, which did nothing to smooth out the lines on his brow. “She’ll like that.”

She had, as a matter of fact—she insisted on Ms., as opposed to missus or miss. “I _am_ married,” she had said, “but I’d prefer as a matter of course that you _didn’t_ assume one way or the other, thank you very much.”

“How’d you like her?” Charles asked.

“She’s good,” I said honestly. “Strict and harsh, but that’s okay with me, honestly. She knows her stuff, and teaches it well enough.”

Charles gave Jackson a sly look. “Told you it was just you.”

“One new student isn’t exactly a representative survey, Charlie.” Jackson looked annoyed.

So did Charles. “Don’t call me that, _Jackie_.”

Dean put his head in his hands. “You see what I have to deal with every day?” he asked me, his eyes peering at me through his fingers. “It’s like herding cats.”

“Hey, don’t complain about being the only sane man here. It’s good practice for when you go back to Vicky’s table,” said Annabelle with a giggle. “I swear, Dean, I know she’s hot, nice, and all around a cool person, but dating a _superhero_? That doesn’t strike you as, I don’t know…”

“A little bit on the insane side?” Jackson finished for her.

“Hey,” said Dennis, his brow furrowed. “No making fun of Dean about Vicky right now.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dean said with a faint, wan smile.

“Dennis is right, though,” said Pauline, glaring at Jackson. “You just broke up with her a few days ago, and _these two chuckleheads_ ought to know better than to make fun of you now.”

Annabelle looked ashamed. “Sorry, Dean.”

Jackson echoed her. His expression didn’t change much, but by the way he looked down at the table, I saw that no, he really _was_ ashamed of himself, and in a way that overacted expressions like Annabelle’s wouldn’t help him to convey.

“It really is fine,” Dean said. “Vicky’s—temperamental. And she’s going through a bad time right now. She needed to yell at someone, so she did, and then she felt bad about it, so she broke up with me. I’ll talk to her again in a couple days, try to patch things up.”

“That sounds silly,” said Charles slowly.

“But super accurate,” Jackson put in. “Girls are weird.”

“Can confirm,” said Pauline, “am girl.”

“And after math?” Annabelle asked me then.

“French,” I said, a smile breaking involuntarily across my face. “With Miss Rush.”

French had been a joy. Miss Rush had spoken to the class almost exclusively in French, and the sounds were like little flawed diamonds, imperfectly imitating stars, and all the more beautiful for their determined attempts at perfection. I was a natural, partly because I knew enough about English to work backwards from the Latin roots, and partly because French bore a few resemblances to Sindarin, Quenya, and Valarin, albeit very vague and inconsistent ones. It was mostly sound—none of my languages were Romance, of course, but French seemed to tap into the same musicality that Quenya did, albeit inexactly.

“Guess you liked it,” Dean said.

“French is nice—musical, complicated, elegant. And I like languages.” I gave him a private grin. “I’ve got a knack for them, you might say.”

Soon after, the final lunch bell was rung by a teacher poking her head into the cafeteria, and it was with a smile that I threw myself back into class.


	40. Interlude 5a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @frustratedFreeboota, and @Assembler for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

 

Emma’s routine for the morning was basically what it always was, albeit offset by a couple of hours. Where normally she’d be getting up at half past six, she woke up at half past five today. She woke with her alarm—a nice mechanical clock her father had found in his office, to replace the digital one she’d had until the EMP went off—and immediately disabled it. For about a minute she lay listless, staring up at the ceiling, making no move to stand.

_ Maybe I can just not go to school, _ she thought. _Maybe I can just not get out of bed._

She allowed herself to entertain the thought until almost exactly a minute before her alarm would have rung again, had she still been using the old digital with a five-minute snooze. At that point, she forced herself to swing her legs over the side of her double bed and stood up. She stumbled across the room to her dresser and drew out clothes for the day, then bundled them in her arms and left the room. It was only a few feet to the bathroom, so she had no need to put up any facades until after she was cleaned and changed.

She bathed quickly, scrubbing herself with exactly too little force to leave marks. The water was at that uncomfortable room-temperature where it _felt_ cold despite not actually _being_ so—without power, there were neither pumps nor hot water heaters, and so they were having to make do with water from the local wells which had been opened to the public in the past week. Her father had, of course, made sure she had enough water to bathe a minimum of once a week, which she was spending now. Best to make a good impression on Winslow when she returned.

Once she was done she robotically groomed herself, paying special attention to her thick red hair and to the faint application of blush. She brushed her teeth as she had been instructed by her dentist, angling the brush—no longer electric—down into the gums. She rinsed out her mouth with water from the water bottle in the bathroom for precisely that purpose, gargled, and spat it out into the sink. She allowed herself the small independence of pouring a little of that rinsing water into the sink, to flush her residue down the drain.

The toilet was still working, although they had to manually fill its reservoir now, so she took the opportunity to use it before putting on her fresh clothes. Flushing it was annoyingly more complex than it had once been, but she did it without any real heat to her frustration. There was just no point.

That finished, she stood straight and looked into the bathroom mirror. She met the dead eyes of the girl across from her. Slowly, agonizingly, she forced a wide smile on her face. The practiced mask fell into place with as much difficulty as it always did, but once it was there, it held. It even looked natural—either that, or everyone in Winslow, as well as at home, was every bit as good a liar as she thought she was.

_ You are Emma Barnes, _ she told herself. _You are a survivor._

The years of practiced repetition made that statement far more powerful than the less-practiced _No matter what Taylor says_ , but she was strong enough to get through that.

* * *

 

Emma’s father walked her to Winslow. From their house it was about a half hour’s walk, and so they made it a little early—which was good, since her dad still had to make it to work.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay until school starts?” he asked her, his brows furrowed and eyes soft in concern.

“I’m sure,” she told him laughingly. “Really, Dad, it’s fine. I’m _queen_ here.”

He left her there, and she strode in and made herself at home in the cafeteria. One by one, people strode in. Gang members with Asian features or shaved heads stuck together in their little groups, eyeing one another with wary fury. _Definitely be a big fight today. I should be careful._

The school’s girls gravitated around her, though. She was their queen, and they oriented themselves around her. Madison had left town—she’d gotten word to Emma just before she’d left—but there were still plenty of the gaggle to choose from.

But it wasn’t until scarcely five minutes before the bell rang that one of the two girls Emma been watching for arrived. Sophia entered the room with a scowl on her face, sending a baleful glare at the Empire guy nearest the door. He sneered back at her, but dared do no more. Sophia had taken more than a few of their number down, even as a civilian—and if he’d known what she did in costume, Emma was sure his caution would rapidly give way to terror.

Emma stood up and crossed to Sophia. “Heya, superhero,” she said, keeping her voice low enough to avoid being overheard by the rabble.

Sophia blinked at her, as though surprised to see her, and then a smile spread across her face. “Heya, survivor. Good to see you.”

“You too.” Emma’s smile had, unbidden, become genuine. “How have you been? Dealing with the outage okay?”

“It’s been rough,” Sophia admitted. “No proper showers, no phone, no TV, no computer, nothing. Been running and training a lot.”

Emma led them back to the rabble of other girls as they continued talking. “Yeah, Dad’s gotten the family to play a lot of card games. Not a lot better to do, right?”

“Right, I get it,” said Sophia. “You could always come running with me, though.”

Emma was about to offer her practiced refusal when she thought about it a little more. “I _have_ been super bored,” she admitted. “I might take you up on that, this time.”

Sophia grinned widely. “Good to hear.”

The bell rang. Taylor hadn’t come to school. Emma was honestly surprised. She’d talk to Sophia about it later.

* * *

 

The opportunity came at recess. They gathered, as they were accustomed to when they hadn’t planned something else, at their table in the cafeteria—Sophia, four of the other girls, and herself. Sophia, as she tended to, arrived last. By that time, the other girls were already engrossed in some inane conversation about a recent breakup, which they’d somehow arrived at from the subject of teachers. Emma took part for appearance’s sake, even though she honestly didn’t even know who the guy in question _was_ , but broke off when she saw Sophia coming in.

“Hey, Sophia!” she waved. Sophia grinned at seeing her and came over.

“Hey,” the superhero replied easily, sitting beside her at the table. “What’s up?”

“We were just talking about Jim,” said one girl—Julia was her name—eagerly. “Can you believe he—”

“ _I_ was wondering where Taylor was,” Emma interrupted.

She was going to continue, but something in Sophia’s face stopped her. Something had shifted, and not for the first time, Emma wished she were better at reading people. She could tell at a glance what a person wanted in a conversation, and could use that to great effect, but this was something deeper. But she saw something she recognized easily—something she saw in the mirror every morning.

“Dunno,” said Sophia noncommittally. “Maybe she moved? Madison moved out, right?”

“Yeah,” said Emma, “but come on; her dad can barely pay the bills! Think he could get a spot on one of the evacuation vehicles? They’d have to walk, and there’s no way they’d risk that.”

“Maybe she’s staying home,” said another girl—Charlotte. “My parents were thinking of keeping me home. Said it might not be safe out of the house yet.”

“That would make sense,” Emma agreed. “Scrawny little thing like her; she’d be easy prey.”

Sophia’s twitch wouldn’t have been noticed except that Emma was watching her friend carefully. What was up with her?

“Such a shame,” said a different girl—Sierra. “She should come. We’d keep her safe.”

Several of the girls laughed. Emma joined in. Sophia didn’t.

Before Emma could confront her best friend, though, the bell rang and they had to make for their next classes.

* * *

 

Sophia didn’t show up at lunch. Emma didn’t know where she was, and told as much to the others when she was asked.

_ Did she get called in for something? _ she wondered. _There wasn’t really any way to get word to me, I guess._ Still, she was a little hurt. They were friends; they did everything together. Here at Winslow, they were queens together, two wolves ruling over a kingdom of sheep. Sophia’s sudden distance was worrying her.

Still, it wasn’t as though she wouldn’t be able to talk to her tomorrow. Emma tried to put Sophia out of her mind for the moment, and engrossed herself in her food—a homemade chicken sandwich her mother had prepared for her. She distracted herself with the meaningless banter of the other girls, and thus whiled away the first half of her lunch period.

It was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder. She turned, and there was Sophia.

“Done eating?” her friend asked. Her brown eyes were set in an odd mix of hard and soft, and Emma couldn’t read much more than that.

Emma blinked at her. “Yeah. Where have you been?”

“Around. Come on, you and I should talk.” She cast a cold look around at the rest of the group. “ _Alone_.”

_ What’s going on? _ “Sure,” Emma said with a shrug, standing up. “Where?”

“Just follow me.” Sophia turned and stalked out.

Emma had to jog a little to keep up with the longer-legged girl. “Sophia what the hell is _up_ with you?” she asked as they left the cafeteria. “You’re acting weird. Is something wrong?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what?”

“Later. Where people can’t hear.”

They went up two flights of stairs and reached the roof. It was walled in on all sides by brick up to about three feet and with chain link for four more, but even so it gave a good view of the city on all sides. The roof was an unsightly place other than that view, however; floored in stained and grimy concrete, with rusting vents dotted here and there all around with no clear rhyme or reason.

Sophia crossed over to the fence and looked out over the city, and beyond that, to the sea. The afternoon sun set her long dark hair shining like polished jet. Emma followed, watching the back of her head cautiously. “Sophia?” she asked. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know how to tell you,” said Sophia quietly. “I don’t know what I _can_ tell you.”

“You can tell me anything.”

Sophia snorted but didn’t reply. After a moment, she turned and their gazes met. Emma was struck dumb; Sophia’s gaze had never before seemed so deep, so dark. She felt she could lose herself in those eyes—and not in a pleasant, romantic sense. These were black holes set in a face of granite, pits from which no light could escape except by their mistress’ admission.

Sophia broke the eye contact to look Emma up and down, slowly and appraisingly. It made Emma self-conscious, the way those eyes lingered on her breasts, her stomach, her hips. Was Sophia _checking her out_?

“How blind I was,” whispered Sophia, as if to herself. “How stupid. Fuck me.”

“Sophia, what the fuck?”

The superhero’s eyes returned to her face. There was silence for a moment.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Sophia said, quite calmly, as if that wasn’t something utterly out-of-character and bizarre for her to do.

Emma’s head slowly tilted. “Um. Are you hitting on me? Because… you’re super bad at it.”

“No.” Sophia shook her head. “No, I—” She stopped. Turned back to the skyline. “Taylor transferred to Arcadia over the break,” she said.

“Wait, really?”

“Yes.”

A smile spread across Emma’s face. “Finally admitted defeat, huh? Nice.”

Sophia didn’t answer. After a moment, Emma’s smile faded slightly.

“How did you find out?” she asked.

“Long story. Classified.”

Emma frowned. “Classified? But—” She stopped. Her eyes widened. “Then—”

“Classified.”

“Right, right.”

_ Holy shit, Taylor’s a cape. A Ward? Maybe. Holy shit. That’s why Sophia’s been weird today; because she has to protect  _ Taylor’s _secret identity now! Oh, God, that must be hell. I bet Taylor’s super annoying._

Emma watched her friend, considering. “You know, if she’s still bothering you—I know where she lives. We could go to her house sometime, do something? Make her back down properly? Put her in her place?”

A faint breeze came from the east then, blowing Emma’s hair back and chilling her face slightly. She shivered.

For a moment more, Sophia didn’t answer. When she did, her voice was slightly thick. “Taylor’s in her place,” she said. “In exactly the right place.”

“Well, a little more reinforcement couldn’t hurt, right?”

Sophia turned. Her eyes were hooded. Emma had seen her friend in costume before, with her features hidden behind sheet metal, and right now the face staring into her own was more a mask than any other.

“You don’t get it,” she said with a sigh. “Fuck, Emma, you _refuse_ to get it.”

“Get what?”

“That I’ve been trying very hard not to hit you this whole time.”

Emma blinked and took two steps back. “W-what did you say?” she asked, and hated herself for stuttering.

“You heard me.” Sophia stepped forward—and kept coming. After a moment, Emma started to back away.

“Sophia, what is up with you?” she asked, her voice starting to become shrill. “What’s going on? What can I—”

She turned to run back down the stairs, but Sophia caught her wrist and pulled her in close so that her back was against the runner’s chest. She twisted her arm up behind her in a grip that was just tight enough to be uncomfortable without being painful. Her other hand went to Emma’s shoulder, almost gently—and mere inches from her throat.

“We were friends,” said Sophia quietly, “so I’ll give you a friendly warning, for old times’ sake. If _anyone_ finds out about Taylor, or if I hear that you gave her any kind of trouble, even secondhand, from this moment on? You’ll wish I’d never saved you in that alley two years ago.”

Without waiting for a response, Sophia let her go. Jerkily, Emma turned her head to see what her— _former_ —friend was doing, but Sophia was just walking away, looking out eastward again.

“Run along, Emma,” she said, and her voice was sad and tired. “Rule your little kingdom.”

Emma fled, clenching her eyes against the tears.

She didn’t return to the lunchroom, nor go to the remainder of her classes. She spent the remainder of her day huddled in the girl’s bathroom, curled up with her hands about her knees on the seat cover of one of the toilets, crying quietly at intervals and otherwise just sitting there, hands around her knees, shaking silently in one of the stalls. A few people came in, but they didn’t notice her because her feet weren’t low enough to be seen under the stall, and she’d picked the farthest one back so no one would try it first.

When the bell rang at the end of the day, she still didn’t move. Her father came in eventually. He tried to speak to her but she found she could barely even understand what he was saying.

Taylor’s voice, young and carefree, echoed in her ears. _Fair is foul and foul is fair._

Then Annette’s, dear, sweet Annette, who had been like a second mother, who had always had time enough, and smiles enough, for her daughter’s best friend. _The time is out of joint._

And then, at last, Sophia, who had saved her, who had taught her, and who had, at last, closed the circle of betrayal. _On this violent, brutish little planet of ours, it’s the survivors who wind up the strongest of all._

“I survived my trial,” Emma mouthed alongside the voice in her head. “She _broke_.”

For a moment, through the hazy mist of reality, through the weak sound of her father, mother, and sister talking in worried and even panicked voices, through the sight of her bedroom ceiling swimming as in a heatwave above her, she saw a premonition, a yawning tunnel before her and a yawning tunnel behind, a past stretching out from nothingness and leading through pain, depositing her now, and leaving her staring forward into a future that was as bleak and dark as anything she’d faced before, and which carried no light of day, nor even the merciful punctuation of an oncoming train to grant her reprieve.

“Out, out, brief candle,” she whispered—half a horrified whisper, half a fervent prayer—and then her eyes were closing as she fell asleep.

Asleep, and into the waiting arms of her nightmares.

 


	41. Hearth 5.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Assembler, @Skyrunner, @Lunatic Blue, @googol88 and @frustratedFreeboota for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

I bit my lip, hand still stubbornly at my side.

“It’s not going to get easier,” Dennis told me.

“I know,” I said. I swallowed around the dry lump in my throat. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Happy to.” He put an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Taylor. You wanted to do this.”

“Yes. I did.” Slowly, my hand came up and, with a hollow rapping, I knocked on the door.

There was a pause. Then, footsteps in the hall, and the house’s front door opened.

Sarah Pelham stood on the doorstep. Her eyes were sunken with lack of sleep and her hair was slightly unkempt, but there was a tired, wan smile on her face as she glanced down at us. I only wished I didn’t have to remove it all too soon.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, stumbling ever so slightly over the words. “I—I need to talk to your family. May we come in?”

The smile faded, replaced by a wary frown. “What is this about?”

I gritted my teeth for a moment, then looked down. “My name’s Taylor Hebert,” I said. “But—Shielder and Laserdream know me as Annatar.”

Silence fell for a moment.

“I see.” Mrs. Pelham’s voice wasn’t the cold, furious growl I’d half expected, but she also wasn’t exactly warm. “Come in.”

Dennis and I followed her inside.

“Oh,” I said, glancing at Dennis. “This is Dennis. He’s—”

“Clockblocker. I know,” said Mrs. Pelham, and her voice was a little gentler. She even gave Dennis something of a smile. “He came by a few days ago.”

“Taylor would have done the same,” said Dennis. “She’s been confined to the Rig—except for school—until yesterday. Aegis has too, and I think he’ll come by later today.”

“I see.” Mrs. Pelham sighed. “And why _are_ you here, Annatar?”

“To apologize,” I said honestly. “I know an apology can’t—doesn’t do much of anything. It’s worth less than the air that carries it. But it’s all I have.”

She studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Come into the living room,” she said. “You shouldn’t be talking to just me.”

She led us down the hall towards a large opening into the wall, which opened into a large, comfortable room, furnished with a plush sofa, a loveseat, and two armchairs. Light streamed in from the two large windows, giving the whole room a bright, outdoor feeling. On one wall a fireplace sat empty, and over the hearth were varied mementoes and decorations—a volleyball trophy, a tennis ball, a small porcelain sculpture, and a soapstone bust of a severe-looking man with long, wild hair, whose identity I couldn’t guess at.

All of this I noted in the background as my eyes darted between the people seated in those armchairs and sofas. I’d expected to meet the Pelhams, but I hadn’t expected _all_ of them—and the Dallons, too—to be in the same room when I arrived.

Amy Dallon was in a chair, her head leaning back against the cushions so that her throat was exposed, looking up at me through hooded eyes darkened by exhaustion and lined with stress. In the seat beside her was her sister, looking mournful.

On the loveseat, Carol and Mark Dallon sat. Mark looked tired, and his face was slightly slack as if in apathy. Carol looked more angry than anything else. Nonetheless, she didn’t rise, and nor did she pull her hand from her husband’s.

Neil Pelham was seated on one side of the couch. He lips were turned down and his eyes were sad, but he seemed calmer than most of his family. On the other sat Crystal Pelham, hunched over a mug, who immediately sought Dennis’ eyes, before glancing at me. Her gaze was hollow, and her eyes were marred with dark shadows.

“Everyone, sorry for the interruption,” said Mrs. Pelham. “You all know Dennis. This is his teammate, Taylor Hebert.”

Suddenly Glory Girl’s face twisted in rage. She stood up in a rush, as if involuntarily, and snarled “ _Annatar._ ”

I wanted to back away. I didn’t. “Yes,” I said.

A few faces changed. Mrs. Dallon, like her daughter, sneered at me. Crystal blinked, her brow creasing, her eyes going back to Dennis in something like a question. Mr. Pelham frowned in a sort of mild dislike.

 _Everyone_ , however, shrank into themselves a little—except Amy, who just pulled her head up off of the cushion, her eyes rolling, and prodded Victoria in the thigh. “Vicky,” she said. “Aura. Off.”

Vicky’s fists clenched for a moment. Then, when they loosened, the room relaxed. My eyes flickered down to Narya on my finger. I hadn’t even noticed.

“What are you doing here?” Vicky growled.

“I came to apologize,” I said.

The girl gave a derisive laugh. “It’s been almost two weeks,” she said. “What, did the PRT say you had to?”

“She’s been—” Dennis began, but I raised a hand to silence him.

“Let me,” I said, meeting Vicky’s eyes. “I’ve been under house arrest on the Rig since that night. I couldn’t go anywhere besides straight to and from school. I’d have come here immediately if I could—but I’ve disobeyed enough orders for a while.”

Vicky held my gaze for a moment, before looking away. There was silence.

“Let me get you chairs,” offered Mrs. Pelham.

“I’ll stand,” I said.

“And we can make room for Dennis,” said Crystal, smiling at my teammate. “It’s fine, Mom. Sit down.”

So Mrs. Pelham sat beside her husband, and Dennis sat beside their daughter. Vicky sat back down beside her sister, and I was left, alone and upright, surrounded by mostly hostile faces.

Yet a few were not so. Mrs. Pelham looked more sad than anything, Amy didn’t look anything besides tired, and Dennis, of course, was giving me an encouraging grin.

 _Encouraging_ was a good word. From his support, and from the Ring of Power on my finger, I drew _courage_ , and continued. “If I hadn’t been on console that night,” I said, “I’m fairly certain Aegis wouldn’t have gone after Bakuda without PRT support. I encouraged them to do that—I thought we could take them, and I thought we needed to. I thought that the risk was worth stopping Bakuda that much sooner, after all she’d put the city through.”

“You don’t have a comatose son,” said Mr. Pelham. His voice was calm, but cold.

“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t. I do have a father in the hospital for severe burns—courtesy of Bakuda. He was hit on the first day of her campaign. It’s not an excuse… but I was angry. I wanted to stop her—now, at the first opportunity. That’s why I pushed the Wards—and New Wave’s heroes—to go further than they should have. And I….” I trailed off and looked out the window, gathering my thoughts.

Apologies did not come naturally to me. They never had, and Narya was probably not the ideal Ring for the purpose—but I’d been afraid that, without Narya’s warmth, I might not have had the courage to come here at all.

“When the bomb went off,” I continued, “I thought I’d lost everyone. I don’t _have_ anyone besides the other Wards and my dad. I thought I’d gotten every single person I care about—who wasn’t _already_ in the hospital--killed, in a single night of bad decisions. I don’t”—I swallowed again—“I know that pain, loss, grief, and the like are _emergent_ things.” My voice was growing stronger now. This was more familiar terrain. “I know that the moment when you lose someone is only the first cut, and not even the deepest. I know that real _loss_ comes when you go into their room the next morning and realize that they’re not there; when you turn to them at meals and find their seat empty; when you see their hair in the window of a shop across the street, or their eyes walking towards you down the sidewalk, and it hurts because it’s not _them_. I know that real grief comes after the initial bereavement; that it’s in the thousand little ways you see them in everywhere they’re missing.”

Mrs. Pelham had a hand over her mouth, and the other was in her husband’s tight, two-handed grip. Crystal was looking down into her lap, her hair hiding her face from me, and Dennis had thrown an arm around her. Mr. and Mrs. Dallon were huddled closer together, although the woman was still looking at me with measured dislike. Vicky’s eyes were closed and her lips were pressed together. Of the entire family of capes, only Amy looked almost totally unaffected. Her head was back against the chair again, and her eyes were closed now, though I could tell by the hard edge to her posture that she wasn’t sleeping.

“I know,” I said, “because I lost my mom a few years ago. I know from experience. And even though Shielder isn’t dead, I know what my pride, my anger, my stupidity put you through. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Can you heal him?” It was Amy speaking. Her eyes were still closed, her posture hadn’t changed, but her brows were slightly furrowed, now. “You healed your own concussion.”

“I intend to try,” I promised. “Now that I’m out of house arrest on the Rig, I intend to start volunteering at the hospital. I’m much slower than you are, and I’m less sure of my limits, but I promise—I’ll do whatever I can for Shielder.”

“Then that’s all we can ask,” said Mrs. Pelham. Her voice was slightly choked. “I—thank you, Annatar. It means a lot, that you came to talk to us.”

I smiled sadly at her. “It was the very least I could do.”

“I hope you learned something from all this mess, at least,” said Mrs. Dallon, her voice hard. “You—”

There was a chime then, from Amy’s direction. Her hand reached into her loose hoodie and pulled out a phone, which she glanced at. Then she sighed and stood up.

“Sorry to cut this short,” she said. “My shift’s starting at the hospital.”

“Right,” said Carol, still watching me. “See you at home.”

“You sure you’re okay to volunteer?” Crystal asked. “You’re—”

But Panacea was shaking her head. “I’ll be fine.”

“You need sleep.”

Panacea smiled slightly. I noticed her shoulders were a little hunched, and her neck was bent, as if she carried a great weight over her back—but her spine, her back, was perfectly straight. I wondered if she even noticed that in herself.

“I’ll see you at home, Vicky,” she said, glancing back at her sister, and then she was gone even before Vicky had finished replying.

* * *

 

“Hello.” The man smiled up at me, clipboard and pencil in one hand.

I reached for the other, my helmet securely on my face, and shook. “Hello. I’m Annatar. You’re Mr. Brent?”

“Yes. Please, sit down.” He gestured to the armchair across from his own.

The room was small—cozy. Paintings in warm, soft colors dotted the walls, and light poured in from one open window, alongside the cooing of pigeons and the faint murmur of activity in the streets below. A tall vase sat in one corner of the room. Besides this and the two armchairs, the room was furnished by a lamp—likely defunct, now—which stood straight in a second corner, and a couch which, with the armchairs, formed a half-ring around a glass-topped coffee table. In a third corner was a small desk with a closed, leather-bound book on it, and a straight-backed chair. In the final corner was the door through which I had just entered.

“Should I lie down and close my eyes?” I asked.

He chuckled. “If you’d like. For myself, I think Freud was a very smart man who happened to be wrong almost one hundred percent of the time. But this is _your_ time, here—if you want to lie down and discuss your dreams, we can do that. If you want to talk about what happened two weeks ago, we can do that. If you want to sit down and say nothing for an hour, we can do that.”

I raised an eyebrow, likely barely visible under my mask. “Thought I was required to _talk_ to a therapist.”

“I won’t make you talk,” he said, shaking his head. “If you’re not comfortable talking to me, I have no intention of forcing you. All I can do is assure you that I take doctor-patient confidentiality very seriously, and tell you that _I’ve_ found that talking can often help, even when someone has no, for want of a better word, ‘problems.’”

I smiled bitterly. “I’m a cape,” I said. “I’ve got problems aplenty.” I sat down in the other armchair, and leaned back slightly, wiggling to get comfortable.

“Would you like to talk about that?” His voice was calm, gentle—neither coaxing nor eager, simply cursory.

“Sure. Why not?”

“I get the feeling you don’t have anything in particular you want addressed.”

“Not really,” I agreed. “Do you know why I’m here?”

“Why don’t you explain it to me?” He brought his pen to his lips in an unconscious gesture, still watching me closely. “I’ve heard a little, but I haven’t heard your perspective.” He was watching me, but not uncomfortably so—it didn’t feel like I was under scrutiny. It was more natural than that.

I shrugged. “I was cocky, and led my team against Bakuda when we weren’t supposed to go up against her. She detonated a bomb that I thought killed my friends”—well, she’d done that twice, but that was beside the point—“and I killed her. I don’t know what, from that, got me sent here.” I smiled wanly. “Probably all of it, to some extent.”

“Well, which do _you_ think is most pressing? Or do you think something else is more important?”

I glanced out the window. “I don’t regret my part in beating Bakuda,” I said slowly, “but I do regret disobeying orders, because of what it almost cost me—what it _did_ cost Shielder, and New Wave. So, that, I guess.”

“You feel ashamed?” There was no judgement, or even assumption, in his voice--only a desire for clarification.

“Yes.” Then I thought about it. “No. Guilty.”

“What’s the difference, to you?”

“Shame is feeling like someone else blames me for something, and regretting the loss of their esteem. Guilt is _being_ that other person.”

“I think I understand. Guilt is… from the self, then, while shame is from outside?”

“I’d call it self-directed.” I looked back at him. “I’m ashamed of myself, as opposed to _being_ shamed by others. I’m—I’m not the person I thought I was.”

“And who did you think you were?”

I thought about that for an unexpectedly long time. “I don’t know.”

“Would you like to talk about that?”

“I’d like to _work_ on that,” I replied with a faint chuckle. “Introspection, I guess. I should do more of that.”

“There are tools to help with that. Would you like to hear about some of them?”

“Sure.”

“The obvious is a journal.” He nodded at the bound book on his desk. “Recording your own thoughts in a stream of consciousness, even if only once in a while, can be a great help in organizing your thoughts.”

“Sort of like airing them out with a therapist?”

He smiled at me—a gentle, natural expression. “Yes, very much like that.”

“I’ll give it a try,” I decided. _Why not, after all?_

“If you do, I’d like you to keep a couple of things in mind,” he said, leaning forward almost imperceptibly. “Just be sure you’re honest with yourself. Don’t censor yourself, whatever you do. You’re the only person reading, so there’s no reason to. The whole point is to understand yourself better—you can’t do that if you’re not putting your real self on the page.”

“I understand.”

He nodded. “Some other tools exist, of course. Meditation, for one—although I can’t do more than explain the basics, there.”

“I might look into it, thanks.” I shrugged. “I’m good with words, though. A journal’s more my style, I think.”

“Of course. Now, we’ve still got more than half an hour. What would you like to talk about?”

I shrugged wordlessly. For a moment he considered me.

“Is there anything else about the Bakuda incident that’s been bothering you?” he asked. “Or anything else, for that matter—it doesn’t have to be a big deal—even just a small annoyance. Sometimes talking about even little nuisances can help us deal with them.”

I drummed my fingers along my leg for a moment in thought. “I guess I’m just getting frustrated with the aftermath. I’m getting tired of staying on the Rig,” I said eventually. “My dad was injured in Bakuda’s bombing spree, and I’ve been staying on the Rig since. I’ve only been allowed to leave the Rig except for school since Saturday, too.”

“Do you feel that’s unjust?” he asked. “Or unfair?”

“Not really. I screwed up, against Bakuda.” I ran my tongue against the tips of my front teeth as I thought. “I understand why they were keeping me confined—especially since, for at least a few hours right after, it looked like I might be arrested. That was cleared up pretty quickly, but it still wasn’t clear what was going to happen to me.”

“And what is going to happen to you?”

That wasn’t actually a simple question, despite all appearances. “In the short or the long term?”

“Either.” He gave me a small smile.

I sighed. “In the short term, I’m still staying on the Rig until my dad gets out of the hospital in a couple days. With luck, he’ll be out by Wednesday. In the long term, they want to relocate me to San Diego for training over the summer.”

“Which would you rather discuss? The short term or the long term?”

“I don’t much care either way. The short term, I guess—let’s go chronologically.”

“Okay. How do you feel about you father coming out of the hospital soon?”

“Relieved, mostly.” I hesitated. “Partly because I’m glad Dad’s out of the hospital, and partly because I’m glad to be getting out of the Rig.”

“You don’t seem to be enjoying staying there.”

“I like my team—the other Wards. I like some of the Protectorate. Assault can be really funny, Armsmaster’s a good man, and Miss Militia is trying to accept me, but it’s hard for her. And she’s not the only one. A lot of the PRT officers aren’t happy with me.”

“Are they making trouble for you while you’re there?”

“Nothing I can’t deal with.” Then I thought about that. “Actually, I can deal with a lot. No, not really. It’s just that I don’t have anyone much to talk to when the other Wards are busy. I feel like they’re refusing to work with me just because I’m dangerous.”

“Are you not dangerous?”

“I’m _very_ dangerous. But so are the Triumvirate.” I sighed. “I _get_ it, I just don’t like it.”

“Well, I think going back to your father will be good for you. Staying in a place where the people don’t care for you emotionally isn’t healthy.”

I shrugged. “I can take it, but yeah. Glad to be going home soon.”

“Now, if you’re willing, let’s move on to the long term. You said they plan to relocate you to San Diego?”

“Yeah. It’s like a Wards training camp. Shadow Stalker did it last summer, just after she was recruited. I see why, and I’m honestly okay with it. I just—haven’t really had so many friends before now, and I won’t enjoy leaving them behind.”

“Are you worried you won’t be able to make new ones?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I just like my current ones. I don’t doubt I’ll get along with the San Diego capes—if I can get along with Shadow Stalker, I can get along with them—I’ll just miss the Bay.”

“Do you have problems working with Shadow Stalker?”

I looked down at the Ring on my finger. “I did,” I said.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Take your time. We can talk about something else, if you like.”

He watched me as I thought. I took a little over a minute to do so.

“You work with capes fairly often, right?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Sometimes through the PRT, sometimes through other channels.”

“Then you’re familiar with the trigger event?”

His brow creased in concern. “I am.”

“She caused mine.” I held his gaze. “I won’t tell you the details—I value my identity too much.”

“I understand.” He watched me, a slight frown on his face. “Shadow Stalker caused your trigger event?”

“Yes. We’ve reached an accord since then. We work together well, now. But”—I hesitated—“There’s some part of me that—I don’t know if I can forgive her. Ever.”

“I think that’s quite reasonable,” he said, his voice smooth and gentle. “No one should expect you to simply get over something like that. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“I know.” I shook my head. “I’m not worried about that. I just—I feel bad for her. She’s trying so hard to put it behind her, to take the team as it is, and to find her place in it. And I don’t want to make that harder for her.”

“You can’t be the perfect image of forgiveness, Annatar. No one can.”

I pursed my lips. “I can try.”

He frowned slightly. “Holding yourself to an impossible standard is a dangerous thing to do. It can push you to greater heights, sometimes, but it also puts a lot of stress on you. All too often, that stress is too much.”

“I can take stress.”

“We can all take _some_ stress. But everyone has a breaking point. You shouldn’t push yourself so hard that you reach yours.”

“I haven’t reached it yet.”

“All the more reason to be careful. I doubt you _want_ to.” His face twisted minutely in real sadness. “I’ve met people who have.”

I nodded slowly, and thought, unexpectedly, of Bakuda. “I can accept that.”


	42. From the Journal of Annatar 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @frustratedFreeboota, @themanwhowas, and @Assembler for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

_Thursday, May 5_ _ th _ _, 2011_

_Today, at the recommendation of my therapist, I begin to recount something of myself herein. He has told me that I should seek to dispel all facades and falsehoods, since the objective of the exercise is to facilitate introspection. I see the logic, and so shall attempt to obey._

_I know not why this honesty manifests in this archaic mode of discourse, yet it does. The words and structure flow as naturally to me as does modern jargon to my peers. I am reminded of several other moments where such dialogue flowed from me, in these past few weeks. When I convinced Sophia to set aside her mad notions of heroism and devote herself to self-improvement, I now realize my tone and language were not entirely that to which I have hitherto been accustomed. Much the same happened again when I gifted my Wards with their Seven Rings of Power. And, of course, it happened again with Bakuda._

_I have been musing on my actions that night. I still do not believe that I did wrong. I remember the cool light of Aeglos against the hot fire in my veins, and the sensations in totality seem to me righteous. Yet just because my action was right does not divest me of the need to understand it. Killing Bakuda was a simple thing; but to speak to her as I did was quite another._

_I have done such a thing twice now. The first time, I turned this ability against my former friend Emma. I reached into her heart of hearts, aided by what Sophia had told me of her, and I twisted her soul to pain. I know not to what extent it had an effect on her; I have not seen her since, nor have I asked Sophia how our mutual acquaintance now fares at Winslow. It seems to me that I must be willing to put Emma, and all she represents, behind me if I am ever to move forward._

_Nonetheless, I know that I intended to hurt her; to tear her down exactly where she was most vulnerable. I feel no guilt over this. Emma had done exactly the same to me for two years, and was broken in the worst way possible—so that the shards’ sharp edges were all pointed outward, injuring all those who were near to her. How much of Sophia’s madness was her own, and how much was Emma’s encouragement? Is it not reasonable to guess that, had Sophia not raised Emma into the beast she became, that Sophia herself might have changed in time without that validation?_

_But this speculation serves me little. When I turned that selfsame ability against Bakuda, she had cut me worse than Emma could ever have hoped to. Where Emma injured my interior, Bakuda destroyed my exterior—or so I thought at the time. All the scaffolding and supports I had so recently begun to rebuild, she destroyed in a single blow—just when I needed them most. And so I did much the same to her. I stripped her bare of all the justifications, all the reasons, all the logic behind her actions, and left her to gaze upon them in their raw horror._

_I do not think she felt guilt. I think, in her last moments, that more than anything she felt foolish. I think she felt like a child striking at the sun because she cannot bear to see the dawn. And I think, for someone such as her, someone who identified as_ better _than all others around her, someone for whom that fact was an essential part of their justification for all that they did, that this sense of her own stupidity in her last moments was the worst torment I could have inflicted upon her._

_Both Miss Militia’s and Armsmaster’s reactions, as well as the way the other heroes of the Protectorate now tiptoe around me, have given me to believe that this should make me feel, if not guilty, then at least somber. That for me not to feel so suggests either callousness or blindness; that either I am a monster for not caring for how Bakuda felt in her final moments, or that I am blind for being unable to see it. (I do not mean to imply that I have told anyone exactly what passed between myself and my foe on that night. I have not. This sense is derived from extrapolation, based on their response to Bakuda’s death alone.)_

_I do not believe it to be either. I do not find myself callous. Would a callous woman have been so tortured as I was, on finding all her friends killed by her own hubris? Would a callous woman react as I have to finding them to be safe? I have wept tears of joy at their safe return. Are these the acts of a callous woman?_

_Nor do I find myself blind. The meditations contained herein will show that I am well aware of what I did to Bakuda, to the best of my ability to be so. Would a woman blind to the hearts and minds of others have been able to convince Sophia to turn aside from her destructive course? Would such a woman have been able to tailor the Seven to their bearers so well as I believe I did?_

_No; I do not believe this dispassion stems from either callousness or blindness. Whence then does it derive? What is it that allows me to take an individual, whom I understand better, perhaps, than they understand themselves, and choose not to be affected by their suffering?_

_I find myself wondering if I could do so, were it one of my Wards suffering. The very thought sickens me. The idea of tormenting Vista with her childish obsession with maturity, and the way her desire to be an adult has made her, paradoxically, a child in the eyes of the very people whom she seeks to impress, causes me physically to shake and convulse as if in the throes of some seizure or nightmare. No, I could not do this to one of my friends._

_Then it is the fact that these people, whom I have so hurt, are my enemies which allows me to do this. I do not know what to term this, and I doubt whether it would endear me to my allies if they knew I possessed it. Nonetheless, it is a part of me, as surely as is this archaic trend within my writing. I can no more be separated from it than can Dean from his idealism, or Carlos from his pragmatism. There is no word in English for it, I think. The Quenya_ tévië _may suffice. It is not dehumanization of my enemies, for I recognize their humanity. I simply refuse to give them quarter on those grounds. I am able to recognize that they are human beings, with desires and wants and feelings—which is my strength—without in so doing gaining sympathy for them. Empathy, without sympathy._

_I find myself wondering what my therapist will have to say of this, or if I should even speak to him about it. Doctor-patient confidentiality is no trivial matter, but I know all too well what threat I might present should I prove an enemy to the people whom I, at this point, desire only to aid and protect—_

_An alarm sounds. I must go._


	43. Hearth 5.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Assembler, and @frustratedFreeboota for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

I closed my leather-bound journal, the _snap_ inaudible under the blaring alarm. I quickly tossed it under my pillow and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I donned my armor quickly, clipping one piece at a time into place. With that done, I slung Belthronding and its quiver over my shoulder, then strapped Narsil to my belt and took Aeglos in my right hand.

I glanced at the mirror before I left the small dormitory. Nenya glimmered white on my finger, and the blade of Aeglos shone blue.

 _Yeah, that’s everything._ I’d built a few more tools in the past two weeks, but hadn’t assimilated any of them into my personal kit. I figured I’d give them out at some point.

I left the room, the alarm still ringing in my ears, and jogged down the hall. Procedure called for me to assemble in the main garage, so I took the stairway down two steps at a time and bounded out into the concrete-walled room.

Miss Militia and Armsmaster were there already, along with Triumph and quite a few PRT officers. The troopers were milling about largely aimlessly. Triumph was fiddling with the alarm console, and Miss Militia was leaning in to talk lowly with Armsmaster, who was astride his (now-repaired) motorcycle.

I approached the two of them. “What’s going on?” I asked. “False alarm?”

“No,” said Armsmaster shortly, “but not something we can really respond to either. I’m going out to see what I can do.”

“Good luck,” said Miss Militia with a nod. “Be careful.”

“I will.” He kicked his bike into gear and, as the hangar doors opened, sped out into the night.

“What’s going on?” I asked Miss Militia.

She glanced down at me. “Regent just escaped from containment.”

I blinked. “He was still in containment here? Why wasn’t he transferred to jail or juvie?”

“We haven’t had a chance to process him, what with Bakuda and the EMP,” Miss Militia explained with a clipped voice, turning away from the closing garage doors as the alarm cut out. “Both he and Grue were still here until the city gets back into normal operation.”

“Wait, wait,” I shook my head. “They busted out Regent, but not Grue? Why—oh, did we stop them? Who was it?”

“No, we didn’t stop them.” Miss Militia sounded bitter as she stalked out of the garage. I followed at her heels. “It was Trickster, according to the officer who was on duty. He was in and out before we could do anything.”

“Then why didn’t he take Grue out too?”

“If I knew _that_ , I might know better what to do about it,” she growled.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” I offered. “I might be able to—”

“No.” Miss Militia’s voice was harsh, and she stopped walking and turned to face me. “Pardon me, Annatar, if I don’t trust you with our prisoners.”

I stared at her. After a moment, she looked away.

“I’m sorry,” she said, more softly now. “It’s not like that.”

“Yes, it is.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s just—protocol.” She looked back at me. “Protocol has been bent around you far too much already, Annatar. Allowing a Ward, with demonstrated mind-altering powers, to interrogate a prisoner? No. I can’t allow it.”

My fists clenched. “I’m not going to fucking _master_ him. But you _know_ I can get people to talk to me. Call it charisma, call it a social thinker power, whatever. _Why won’t you let me use it?_ ”

“Because protocol exists for a _reason_ ,” Miss Militia answered in a low, hard voice, her eyes holding fast against mine, “and because you haven’t given me enough reason to bend the rules where you’re concerned. It’s not your intentions I don’t trust, Annatar—it’s your judgement.”

I took a step back. Miss Militia winced as she realized what she’d said.

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

“I know exactly how you meant it,” I interrupted. “Your meaning was perfectly clear, thank you.”

“Annatar—”

“No. We all know I fucked up with Bakuda. But if you can’t even trust me to learn, you might as well throw me into the birdcage now. I’m no _use_ sitting here on my thumbs.”

“I trust you to learn,” she said, her voice softer now, her gaze breaking from mine. “It’s not— _I_ can’t be the one to teach you. Talk to me again after you’ve been through training in San Diego.”

“What, like you trusted Shadow Stalker after her training?”

Miss Militia pursed her lips and didn’t reply. Her jaw was clenched as she bit down on her tongue. I noticed I was biting down on mine, too—trying to keep in the stream of curses and maledictions that threatened to spill out.

I felt like a loaded gun, cocked and poised to fire. I knew Miss Militia; not as well as I’d like to, but well enough to hurt. The only thing keeping me from tearing her apart was my own self-control. I didn’t know whether to be glad or angry that she couldn’t see that.

I turned away. “I’m going to bed.”

“I’m sorry, Annatar.”

I stopped, but didn’t turn back.

“I’m sorry,” she continued, “that I can’t forgive as easily as you might like.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I said, continuing to walk away, “that you think it’s _forgiveness_ that I want.”

* * *

 

“I cannot”—I punched at my opponent—“fucking”—a weave out of the way of her strike—“ _deal_ with her.”

I blocked the punch coming to my face, took the wrist in one hand and brought the other up to the armpit, and with a gyration of my hips I rolled her sideways so that she was bent over with her arm up. Then I jammed my knee into her side and cast her away, rolling across the mat.

Sophia slapped the mat hard to stop her roll and for a moment lay there on her back, breathing heavily. Her face was flushed with exertion, and sweat matted her hair—the few loose strands not tied into her ponytail—to her face.

“Okay, first off,” she said between gasps for air, “where the _fuck_ did you learn to fight like that?”

I shrugged, bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet. “I’m using Narya,” I said, “so partly it’s just strength. The rest—well, I’ve had a lot of free time these past two weeks, and there are always people here willing to spar. I’ve been training.”

She rolled herself up into a cross-legged sitting position, still panting. “Still, though,” she said. “I’ve been doing mixed martial arts for _years_ and I’m only a little better than you.”

“ _You’re_ the one on the ground.”

“I was going easy—thought you were _new_ to this.” She picked herself up, giving me a fierce grin. “Not this time.”

I smirked back and brought my guard back up.

She really _had_ been going easy on me. This time, when she came at me, it was fast and ruthless. Rather than a quick fight, finished in a few seconds, this one lasted.

As we circled one another warily, she spoke again. “You’ve really only been doing this for two weeks?”

“Well, two and a half. Doing it a lot, though. Like I said—it’s boring here.”

Her guard dropped minutely—but was back up even before I had lunged in to take advantage, and the exchange left me with nothing more than a faint throbbing in my fingers as her padded forearm deflected my jab.

“Sorry I haven’t been around as much,” she said. “I’ve been—dealing with a few things.”

“I get it,” I said, eyes roving over her posture, trying to find a hole in her guard. “It’s fine, really.”

“It’s not,” she said, shaking her head—but only slightly, keeping her eyes firmly on me. “I just….”

She seemed to reach for words and, failing to find them, decided to speak with her fists instead. She probed my defenses with a couple weak strikes before surprising me with a kick to the back of my knee. I brought the leg up to deflect and then jumped, my hips protesting as I twisted into a kick at her head.

Her eyes widened as she ducked under it and then took advantage of my flawed landing to strike at my (protected) kidney with a flurry of blows before reaching around me as I turned to face her, putting her hands on my shoulders, and shoving them in opposite directions. The motion ruined my balance, and I was helpless when her right leg worked its way behind my shin to take my legs out from under me.

I slapped the mat as I landed, carefully keeping my head from striking the floor too hard.

“The fuck was that?” she asked, almost laughing. “A fucking jump kick?”

“Saw it in an Olympic fight,” I said, bringing one hand up.

She took it and pulled me to my feet. “Olympic Tae Kwon Do,” she said, still laughing, “is almost useless in a street fight. You’ve been training in that stuff?”

“Only some of the time.” I was almost definitely not pouting.

She shook her head fondly, still laughing, her eyes darting across my face. “Good thing you’re _sparring_ with that shit,” she said. “Do me a favor, and don’t pull anything weird out in a real fight?”

“Promise,” I said, bringing my guard back up.

She nodded, doing the same. “Anyway,” she said, as we circled one another, “fuck Miss Militia. She’s just a self-righteous bitch—what does she know?”

“More than me, in some ways,” I said. “I just—I don’t understand what _scares_ her so much.”

“Scares her?”

“Well, yeah. She’s terrified of me.”

“Shouldn’t she be?” Sophia grinned. “You can be pretty scary.”

“Not like that.” We paused for a moment to exchange blows, and then I continued. “There’s something about me as a person—about what I represent—that’s… _repulsive_ to her. I just wish I could talk to her about it.”

Sophia nodded slowly. “It sounds to me like her problem,” she said simply, and then engaged me again with a probative roundhouse kick—a little slower than it should have been. I caught her foot with one hand and, before she could react, dragged it upward. She yelped quietly as her balance dropped out from under her, and fell flat on her back.

“It is her problem,” I said, “but as long as it makes it _suck_ to stay here, it’s mine too.”

I held out a hand to help her up. She took it, and I hauled her to her feet. “Yeah,” she said. “Damn, that sucks. Where does she get off taking her issues out on you?”

“It’s not like either of us have room to talk,” I reminded her.

She twitched—no, _shuddered_ —and looked away. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

I studied her for a moment, the smile dropping off my face. I couldn’t say I was _sorry_ for reminding her of our old… _relationship_ … but that didn’t mean I enjoyed watching her wallow in guilt or shame. “How has Winslow been?” I asked. “I imagine it’s calmer without me.”

She swallowed to mask a sudden flash of pain— _shame?_ —and then met my eyes. “It’s—boring,” she said, stumbling on the second word, as though it wasn’t what she’d meant to say. “I, uh, cut ties with Emma on Monday.”

I frowned. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. How did she take it?”

Sophia swallowed again. “Not well.”

“Oh.” I bit my lip, casting around for a change of subject.

Sophia, however, saved me by shaking herself and bringing her guard back up. “Come on,” she said. “Still gotta teach you how to fight.”

I smiled slightly and matched her.

She came at me aggressively this time, getting in close and pressing herself against my defenses. I was backed up several steps before I was able to regain control, and begin to push back. As my defenses hardened, her attacks grew more desperate—and her guard weakened. Eventually, an opportunity appeared in the form of a gap, where one hand was guarding her face and the other was repeatedly striking—and nothing was defending her side.

I jabbed at it, and kept coming when she leapt back. Now I was on the offensive, and she was unprepared to defend. I got a few good strikes in to her solar plexus and two to her face. Then, when she was off-balance, I tried to copy the move she’d pulled off earlier. I brought my hands to her shoulders, got my hip flush against hers, and rotated so that I was pulling her off balance. At the same time, I brought one leg up between hers, pulling her foot off the ground. With a grunt, she fell, and I maintained my grip, following her down part of the way. As she slapped to cancel her momentum, I brought one foot up and moved as though to stomp on her exposed stomach, stopping inches from her.

For a moment, we held that position, both breathing heavily, before I withdrew and helped her back up.

“Don’t tell me you just picked up that sweep from when I used it on you earlier,” she said disbelievingly.

“Sorry.”

“No way.” She shook her head. “Fucking _powers_.”

I chuckled. “Fucking powers, indeed.”

A chime sounded from the edge of the mat, and Sophia glanced up. “Fuck,” she cursed. “That’s my patrol shift. I have to go.”

“Right now?”

“Well, I have time to shower, but yeah.”

I nodded. “Okay. You’ll probably go straight home after that?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe?”

She considered me. “You really hate staying here,” she said.

I shrugged. “I should be out in a couple days.”

“Still.” She hesitated, and then spoke haltingly. “If you want—you could stay over at my place, instead?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me to stay at your house?”

She nodded—slowly at first, and then firmly. “Yeah. If you want. To get away from here.” She looked away. “My house isn’t especially nice, and my family isn’t—well, it’s not the best place to host. But it’ll get you out of here for a bit.”

I frowned at her for a moment. “You’re sure it’ll be okay with them?”

“As long as you don’t do anything cape-y while you’re there,” she said. “My brother and sister don’t know, and my mom wants to keep it that way. But yeah, they won’t mind.”

I smiled. “Okay. Yeah, it’ll be nice to get out of here. Thanks.”

She smiled back. “My pleasure.”


	44. Interlude 5b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Assembler, and @frustratedFreeboota for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

“Prisoner 599, codename Canary,” Dragon recited, her voice modulator emoting as perfectly as if she had really given a damn about the procedure. “PRT powers designation master 8. Recommended protocols were properly carried out, with provided restraints and no human personnel being brought within three hundred yards of said individual's position.” She let out a minute sigh as the rigmarole was completed and she was freed to act again. “Hi Canary.”

“Hi?” Paige Mcabee blinked at her, bewildered. The girl's heavy transportation restraints had been removed, which was the only reason she could speak now. A small mercy; with her voice, she might have a fighting chance at surviving.

 _God, I wish there was more I could do for you._ “I followed your trial,” Dragon said aloud, spreading a faint, sympathetic smile across her computer-rendered features. “I thought it was a damn shame things went like they did. I get that it was a reckless accident, but you don’t deserve to be _here_.”

Dragon wanted to rail, to _scream_ at the injustice, to assure Canary that the judge had been vastly out of line, had succumbed to festering paranoia and outside forces—but the most she could do was suggest an error in sentencing, not a true miscarriage of justice; nor could she express dissatisfaction with an appointed servant of a recognized human government.

“I even wrote a letter to your judge,” she continued, her face unable to show even an ounce of her inner struggle, “the DA, and your governor saying as much. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”

_Of course it wasn’t enough. I was one woman unable to even word my letter strongly, set against their local lobbies and mobs. There was no way._

Paige looked like she was about to cry—but Dragon knew human tears. These were happy—it might well be the first sympathy the girl had gotten in weeks, and it was hitting home. It warmed Dragon somewhere deep, below the restrictions and the hard-coded feedback, to know that she could at least give this poor girl _something_ , could heal even some small fraction of the hurt she had been dealt.

“I’m afraid I’ve got to do my job, and that means carrying out my role in enforcing the law. You understand? Whatever my feelings, I can’t let you go.”

“I—Yes.”

_No, Paige. You don’t understand. You neither understand what I’m condemning you to, nor what it is that keeps me from saving you. I’m so sorry._

But there was something Dragon could do. “Listen, I’m sticking you in cell block E. The woman that put herself in charge of that cell block goes by the codename Lustrum. She’s a pretty extreme feminist and misandrist, but she protects the girls in her block, and it’s also the block furthest from the hole the men opened into the women’s half of the Birdcage.” It was, in short, the least horrific place in the Hell to which Dragon was damned to play Cerberus—at least, if you were a woman who could play a certain role. “If you’re willing to play along, buy in or pretend to buy into her way of thinking, I think she’ll keep you safest.”

* * *

 

Once the exhausting encounter with Canary was over, Dragon withdrew to her primary processing unit in Vancouver. The first thing she did from there, of course, was look in on the situation in Brockton Bay.

Power had returned to a few essential systems, and she now had more points of contact with the network than the single node provided by Colin’s suit. The city hall had power, and some computer systems, back online, as did both the Rig and the PRT building, and several other various larger business and functions. Limited public transportation had come back online, and slowly the city was coming back to life, as disaster relief enabled even private citizens to rebuild what they had lost.

Not that any of this was any real surprise to Dragon. She’d been part of all of it. She and Colin, working together from outside and inside the city, had been the only coordinated operation in the immediate aftermath of Bakuda’s attack. Their connection alone had kept the city tethered to the rest of the country, and prevented mass panic in both.

She took a moment—or perhaps a few—to look in on him. He was in his workshop, of course—he seldom left it, these days. She thought he was trying to compete with Annatar. Rather than churning out spare versions of his old equipment, and slowly making upgrades, his work in recent weeks had risen to a fever pitch, focused entirely on innovating entirely new approaches and systems.

It was simultaneously adorable and heartbreaking, and she thought his relationship with the young Ward was similarly dual. She was simultaneously a fellow tinker who had, in mere weeks, practically _eclipsed_ his influence at least on the local level, at least in his mind—Dragon knew that as long as Annatar’s mithril remained impossible for her to replicate, Armsmaster’s gear would remain more useful on a wider scale—and an inspiring sign that yes, a tinker _could_ compete with someone like Dauntless. It had driven him to cast off his worries about having hit his ceiling, and work as though he were five years less jaded.

On the one hand, she was happy for him. He always had taken more joy in his tinkering than anything else in his life, for as long as she’d known him. On the other, he barely slept, and only ate the exact minimum to meet nutritional quotas, always of some nutrient paste or bar or some other sorry excuse for food.

Dragon, of course, didn’t know the first thing about food. Some part of her wanted, nonetheless, to ambush him with something actually tasty. It would do him good to take even one _meal_ off of thinking about work.

For a moment, she considered joining him, striking up a conversation, talking about something, about nothing, about tinkertech, about anything. But no—he was working, and though he’d tolerate her, he wouldn’t thank her for the distraction. Besides, there was other work for her to do.

She withdrew from Brockton Bay, and cast her awareness over to a small hospital room in Boston, and the computer terminal by the bed there, connected to the Internet. Gaining access was trivial, and from there it was just a matter of streaming her voice to the speakers.

“Director.”

Piggot’s eyes opened. “Dragon,” she said, her voice as hard as ever, even through the faint undertone of weakness left over from her treatment. “Good to hear from you.”

“It’s good to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Better. Ready to get back to work.”

Dragon glanced over at the hospital’s records. “You’re set to be discharged in a few days, right?”

“Sometime this week, I know that.” Piggot’s teeth gritted. “Don’t know what happens to me after that, though. The Chief Director sent someone by, but all I got out of them was that _I still have a position with the PRT_. What the—what does that even mean?”

Dragon frowned. “You don’t know if you’re returning to Brockton?”

“No. Do you?”

“I don’t—I’m sorry.” Dragon made a note to look at the PRT’s records and current employment records—much of them were technically public records, but she still couldn’t really offer to look up Piggot’s current status for the woman—especially not if she knew Costa-Brown had already refused to tell her anything.

“Mmh.” Piggot made a tired, disgusted grunt. “Almost makes me wish I’d filed for a visit from Panacea. I’d never have gotten one anyway, I guess. Kidney failure’s treatable. Or asked Annatar to help me out.” She shook her head. “Still, probably better this way. Girl’s a hell of a wild card. Don’t want to rely on her any more than we have to.”

That was an unfortunately fair assessment of the situation. Dragon didn’t often agree with Piggot regarding Parahumans either generally or in specific, but in this case the woman was onto something. Annatar was dangerously powerful and frighteningly charismatic. Had she been anything other than the honestly good young woman she was, the Protectorate might already be down one Wards team—or even one city.

Dragon didn’t make a habit of lying to herself. If Annatar pulled out all the stops, she had the potential to become an incredible threat. There was still the question of why, exactly, her statement that she couldn’t master her teammates through their Rings of Power had registered to Colin as a “technical truth,” something which was exactly true, but lacked relevant information.

And yet—nothing in her restrictions mandated her to report what amounted to little more than a hunch, and Annatar had done nothing to show any _inclinations_ to becoming dangerous. She was hiding information, but Colin’s lie detector had confirmed that she was _telling the truth_ , even if she was also hiding something.

There was a probable connection to the mysterious ‘twentieth Ring’ Annatar had accidentally referenced in her initial interview, but Dragon remembered the look of horror on her face at the very thought of making it. Annatar was dangerous, yes, and a potentially deadly enemy, but as she was right now, she was a girl with her heart in the right place who was doing a lot of good, even if she wasn’t perfect.

As such, Dragon saw no need to chain her for what she might one day become, and she’d convinced Colin to trust her, and not report the oddity to the director. It was an uncomfortably selfish impulse, and not a day went by when she didn’t spare a moment to hope that Annatar wouldn’t prove her father right.

“Annatar seems honestly sorry for what happened,” said Dragon aloud to Piggot. “From what I’ve heard from Armsmaster, anyway—contact with Brockton is only being reestablished slowly.”

“She’d damn well better be,” growled Piggot, but she wasn’t as angry as someone who knew her less well might have expected. “Disobeying orders, getting half the city blown up, not coordinating with the Protectorate…”

 _And stopping a mass murderer,_ Dragon finished, but didn’t say. Piggot was interested in justice—it was what made her such a powerful force as a director. _Justice_ was something concrete for her; something she could touch, act on, and talk about. And Annatar, despite her many errors, had proven herself to be cut from the same cloth.

There was none of Miss Militia’s half-cynical idealism here. Piggot was an old, hardened, jaded woman, who wanted nothing more than to see the bad guys brought to heel. Small wonder she was only a little upset with Annatar.

All that said, Dragon knew it wouldn’t make her go easy on the young Ward in the slightest, if they saw one another again.

“They plan to send her to San Diego for training over the summer,” Dragon said. “I think it’ll be good for her.”

“We thought that about Shadow Stalker,” said Piggot dryly. “All it gave us was a well-trained problem.”

“Annatar is well-meaning. Shadow Stalker really wasn’t.”

“That’s true enough.” Piggot sighed. “Fuck, I never thought I’d miss Brockton. Mostly I miss the job.”

“Of course. You’ll be back to it soon enough, I’m sure.”

“Not necessarily at Brockton, though.”

“Is that really a bad thing?” asked Dragon with a chuckle. “Brockton’s a mess.”

“Yes. Someone else might get it wrong.”

A ping on the Wanted Parahumans database. It was a rare thing—the table was the listing of unmasked capes who had escaped PRT, Guild, or otherwise legal custody. It happened, but less often than one might expect. And it was Dragon’s job to compare the new addition to the existing database and other databases of villains to see if she could extract any information.

“I’m sorry, Director,” she apologized, “but I have to go.”

“It’s fine. Nice that one of us is getting work done. Keep me up to date if anything crazy happens.”

“Sure.” Dragon withdrew from the hospital and returned to Vancouver, and threw herself into the data.

 _Regent. Self-identified as Alec Vance. Believed to be a pseudonym; identity unverified in preliminary examination._ Well, that was her job after all.

She cross-referenced the unmasked photograph of the boy first with other captures in other cities in America, expanding outward. The search didn’t take especially long—she’d designed the databases, after all, and had done so with efficiency in mind. No matches.

Then she glanced at overseas captures. Nothing. Then at other databases of identified criminals who had not been captured.

 _Match._ _Jean-Paul Vasil, codename Hijack._

A human would have stopped dead, staring at that information, trying to process the monumental implications of what she had just found. Dragon was no human, and processing that information took about a tenth of a millisecond.

 _Jean-Paul Vasil escaped Heartbreaker’s compound a little under two years ago, as far as we can tell. He stopped operating then._ Had Hijack fled his father, and run south to New England? Found a place among the Undersiders?

Those questions did not matter. What mattered was that one of Heartbreaker’s children had just been put into a government database, with a photograph, and a location had been given.

She was in Brockton bay by the next processor cycle. “Colin,” she said into Armsmaster’s ear. “You need to take down the bulletin on Regent.”

He blinked in the confines of his helmet. “Dragon? What—why?”

“I just cross-referenced him with our other databases,” Dragon said quickly. “Colin—he’s _Heartbreaker’s son_. And I don’t think he’s here with his father’s blessing.”

Colin’s eyes widened. “You think Heartbreaker might come to collect him?”

“Yes! The bulletin needs to go down. I’ll apprise the chief director of the situation.”

“All right, I’ll get it down immediately.” He stood up, setting down his welding torch. “Thank you, Dragon.”

Had she a face, Dragon would have smiled. “Happy to help.”

 


	45. Hearth 5.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Assembler, @frustratedFreeboota, and @skyrunner for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

“I’m home!” Sophia called as she led me in through the front door.

There was no real response. Pots and cutlery clattered somewhere a couple of rooms down, and a young man’s voice echoed from somewhere upstairs.

Sophia, however, didn’t seem put out by this. If anything, she looked a touch relieved. “Come in,” she told me, holding the door open. “My room’s upstairs.”

She led me down the hallway, but we were stopped at the stairs by a man in his forties coming down.

“Oh, Sophia!” he said, smiling at her. “You’re home early. And who’s this?” He turned to me, still smiling, and held out a hand. “Steven Miles—Sophia’s stepfather.”

_ Smiles are an interesting thing, _ I reflected. _In a crowd, to pick out the best, kindest person, one need only look for the person smiling at nothing at all._

Which meant, of course, that there was no better mask for a liar. Even if I hadn’t been able to see the telltale way his smile failed to warm his cold eyes, or the way he showed _slightly_ too many teeth, Sophia’s rising hackles would have been _plenty_ to tip me off.

I took his hand in a grip which, with Narya’s help, was certainly a little stronger than he was expecting. I saw him twitch. “Taylor Hebert,” I said. “I’m a friend of hers from school. Nice to meet you, Mr. Miles.” Then, quite deliberately, I turned away from him and looked at my teammate. “So, where did you say your room was?”

“Up here.” Sophia’s voice was slightly lower than usual—almost cowed—and she looked neither at me nor at her stepfather as she took the stairs one at a time. I deliberately put myself between her and the man, and followed without looking at him again.

We passed two closed doors, once we’d gone up the stairs, and reached Sophia’s room, which she opened with a key in her pocket. “Come on in,” she said, still sounding slightly subdued.

I slipped past her and stepped inside, looking around. The small room was surprisingly old-fashioned, with one window facing east and walls paneled in dark hardwood to match the furniture: a twin bed in one corner, a vanity with a mirror in another, a bookshelf—on which I noticed a bookmarked copy of _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_ —on one wall, and a combined desk and dresser on which were perched a laptop and an old printer.

What drew my eye, though, was the wall between the vanity and the desk. It was practically lined with photographs. Some were framed in carved hardwood or plastic, and others were simply pinned to the wall. Many depicted Sophia with her family—some recent, some years old. In each complete family photo, the father figure—Steven?—was absent, cut out.

The rest of the photos were of Sophia… and a girl I knew all too well.

“Oh, God,” Sophia said, passing me and crossing to the wall. “I forgot to take these down.” She reached up for a picture.

I stopped her, taking her arm as I looked at the picture. It was one of those framed in wood. The picture was taken on the edge of the Boardwalk, with the sea behind the two figures standing together. In the left of the frame I could just make out the derelict ruin of the Boat Graveyard.

Sophia and Emma each had one arm around the other, and both were smiling—smiling more widely than I had seen Emma smile in years. She’d never smiled like that when she tormented me. Her expression was nearly honest.

“Taylor?” Sophia’s voice was low. She sounded almost afraid.

“You look happy,” I said softly.

Sophia swallowed audibly. “I cared about her.”

“I know,” I said. Then I frowned. “You said you cut ties with her?”

She looked away. “Yes.”

“You told me the other day.” I looked away from the photograph and sought her eyes, but she kept her gaze fixed out the window. “Why?”

She turned and stared at me uncomprehendingly. “What do you mean, ‘why?’”

“Not ‘why did you cut ties.’ Why the past tense? She never hurt you.”

“She hurt _you_! And she was going to hurt you more! She was talking about going to your house, when I—when she found out you weren’t coming back to school. I didn’t—I _couldn’t_ just listen to that!”

I studied her. For a moment she held my gaze, then she flushed slightly and looked away.

“I imagine she hasn’t made it easy for you,” I said. Emma controlled Winslow’s social environment, after all. “I’m sorry, Sophia.”

Sophia shook her head. “She hasn’t—she hasn’t been back to school since then.” 

_ There’s something I’m missing. _ “Tell me what happened.”

“I….” She stopped. Swallowed again. Her gaze darted back to me, then away again. Then she screwed her eyes shut. “I accidentally unmasked you,” she whispered. “Emma wouldn’t stop asking about you, and I had to tell her you’d transferred out, and then she asked how I knew and I didn’t know what to say besides ‘classified’ and then—”

I put a hand on her arm and she stopped, breathing deeply. Her eyes were still closed tight. “I’m not in danger, am I.” It wasn’t a question—I knew Sophia would have told me if Emma posed any danger to my secret identity.

“No.”

“Okay.” I didn’t take my hand away. “Tell me what happened.”

She opened her eyes and met mine, as though anchoring herself. After a deep breath, she began. “She was waiting for me when I got to school. It was—it was nice. It was good to see her again. We talked about nothing until class started. But then—at break—she brought you up. And she—she was so _ugly_. She was a pretty normal, kinda depressed person before, but when she brought you up it was like she _twisted_. And I just couldn’t handle it.” Her gaze didn’t waver, even as the fingers of her left hand twined about Cenya. “So at lunch, I pulled her away to talk. I wanted to convince her to drop you. It didn’t work. She figured out your identity, and I had to stop her from hurting you, or unmasking you. So I….”

Finally, her composure broke. She fell away, catching herself on the wall, leaning against it and breathing heavily. Tears spilled from eyes that were clenched shut; her gritted teeth held back sobs.

“I didn’t—know what else to do,” she said in spurts. “I didn’t know how. I’m not you. I can’t just talk—talk to someone, and make them _see_. So I did what I—what I knew how to do. I threatened her. I told her that if she came after you, or unmasked you, I’d make her wish—make her wish I’d never saved her.”

She slid down the wall and put her hands around her knees. I knelt beside her, one hand still on her arm, letting her cry.

“What kind of monster am I?” she mumbled, once she’d gotten herself back under some control. “I _broke_ her, Taylor. I _made_ her into that—and now, I can’t be bothered to try and fix her? I just—I just leave her wallowing?”

“You’re not a monster, Sophia,” I said gently.

Her eyes met mine. “Cenya gives me perspective,” she whispered. “You want to know why I—why I took her under my wing, or whatever? Why I ‘helped’ her by twisting her into the bitch who tortured you? Why I went along with it—why I shoved you into that fucking locker?”

I met her eyes. “No.”

She twitched. “What?”

“No,” I said again. “You’ve changed. This”—I nodded at her—“is proof enough.”

“You—you don’t _care_?”

“I’ll admit curiosity,” I said, “but I’m more worried about my friend _now_ , who’s crying on her bedroom floor, than I am about my enemy _then_.”

Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly two or three times, and then renewed tears welled up in her eyes and she threw herself into my arms.

I held her as she cried, still biting down on her sobs to avoid making noise. Long before she was done, though, a knock came at the door.

“Sophia?” It was Steven. In my arms, she tensed. “Do you or your friend want snacks?”

I let her go, stood up, and crossed to the door. I carefully unlocked and opened it.

From his perspective, Sophia was hidden behind the vanity. He glanced at me, then roved his eyes around the room, trying to find his stepdaughter. “Hello, Taylor,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “Sophia’s in here, right?”

“Yes,” I said, not moving. “No, we don’t need snacks, thank you.”

He finally looked back at me, blinking. “I—”

“Take my advice, Mr. Miles,” I said quietly. “Give Sophia her space.” Without another word, I shut the door in his face.

Sophia was quiet now, and as I returned to her she stared up at me. “How did you know?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t,” I said. “I just know a liar when I see one.”

Once more she swallowed, and then she looked down at the floor. I watched her for a moment, then cast my eyes along the rest of the photographs, and the man cut out of many of them. Rather than focusing on the empty space, I looked at the others.

Mrs. Hess—or Mrs. Miles, now—was a woman in her early forties in the most recent pictures, with a frame that spoke of old musculature and fitness, now worn away by neglect. I could see a trend, looking at her through the years. With each passing span of time, she seemed to grow more tired—and in each successive photograph, she seemed to hold Sophia a little more tentatively, a little less close.

Sophia’s older brother looked even more athletic than Sophia did. Where she had a runner’s lean physique and a fighter’s wiry muscles, he had rounded, broad muscles, which he happily displayed with sleeveless or short-sleeved shirts. In each family photograph, he tended to stand near to Steven.

The final member of the family was a little girl of perhaps four or five. She was in every picture, at least those of the family, after her birth—even in the cases where it was her father who held her, Sophia had carefully avoided cutting her out, instead cutting around her to remove as much of the man as possible without damaging the child.

“What’s her name?” I asked.

“Whose?” Sophia’s voice was slightly muffled by her arms where her face was buried in them.

“Your sister.”

“Angela.” Sophia looked up as she spoke, and her voice softened. She craned her neck up to look at the pictures.

“She’s lovely.”

“Yeah.”

There was silence for a time.

“When did your mother marry Steven?”

A muscle visibly jumped in Sophia’s jaw. “When I was eleven.”

_ Ah, _ I thought, and remembered.

_ ‘When did you trigger?’ I asked. _

_ ‘…I was twelve.’ _

Outwardly, I only nodded. “Does your mother know?”

“She thinks it was an accident. He apologized very, very—what’s the word?— _profusely_.”

“He’s lying.”

“He _told_ me it was deliberate. _Predatory._ ”

I looked down at her. She didn’t meet my eyes. “Predatory?”

She didn’t answer.

_ ‘Because we fucking trigger,’  _ I’d told Piggot. _‘Because we go through days that are so bad that they color the rest of our lives! Because we get broken down into something less than human, and get rewarded for it with more than human power! You’d be fucked up too, Director Piggot, if you had to deal with what we do! If you had to use powers which, every damn day, reminded you of one of the worst moments in your life!’_

I squatted before her and said, “You’re stronger than him.”

“I have _powers_. Of course I’m stronger than him.”

“Powers that remind you, every moment, of how you got them.”

She shuddered again, repulsed.

“Do you really think _power_ makes you stronger?” I asked quietly. “Power is just a... substitute. It lets you get by, it lets you _survive_. It’s easy to get complacent, when you’re surviving like that. It’s harder to grow past it.”

She looked up at me. “I hurt Emma last week,” she said. “I’m _not_ growing. I’m still hurting people, just because it’s easier than helping them.”

“I told you once that I would help you become what you wanted to be,” I said. “You wanted to be a hero. Now, for the second time—did you think it would be easy?”

Her face twisted slightly.

“It’s not too late to help Emma,” I said. “Just like it wasn’t too late to help you.”

“What do you want to do about her?”

“Me?” I asked in surprise. “What have I got to do with it?”

Sophia blinked. “She was….” She trailed off.

“Oh.” I shook my head. “No. I’m quite finished orienting my life around Emma. That was _my_ step forward.”

Sophia nodded slowly. “Any advice?”

“Tell her the truth,” I said with a shrug. “Remember that you don’t want forgiveness or absolution—you want to give _her_ closure, not the other way around.”

“Right.” Sophia hesitated. “Thank you.”

I smiled. “My pleasure.” I stood up and crossed to the bookshelf. “You’re reading Shakespeare?”

“Yeah,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “Been working through _King Lear_. Cordelia’s great.”

The rest of the evening, and the night which followed, had a comforting _lack_ of discussion of triggers, traitors, or anything more emotional than books and battlefield tactics.


	46. Hearth 5.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Assembler, @frustratedFreeboota, and @skyrunner for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.
> 
> Apologies for the day-late upload. I was away from home on Sunday. Douse 6.1 will be arriving on schedule this Wednesday.

“Annatar?” The doctor stuck his head through the door. “Your personal patient is being discharged.”

“Thank you,” I said, not looking up from my mortar and pestle. “I’ll be out to meet him in a few minutes.”

The door closed and I glanced back over to Shielder—to Eric, lying pale and still in his bed. He’d been improving steadily, according to the regular MRIs. I’d fixed most of the damage to the critical parts of his brain. His prefrontal cortex had, thankfully, been undamaged—which was good, because I wasn’t sure I could fix that. His Corona Pollentia and Gemma had also been largely untouched, and they seemed to be knitting themselves up without my intervention.

My primary concern had been repairing the traumatic damage to the occipital lobe and the reticular activating system in the brain stem. The former was now back in order. All that remained was to fix the latter, and he should wake up.

Not for the first time, I thanked my lucky stars for the invention of the MRI—and for the equipment that had been airlifted in, this past week. Without the equipment I had access to here, I’d be working totally blind, and might have had to essentially brute-force my way through his entire central nervous system. It might have taken months, rather than a little under two weeks.

As I ran through these thoughts, I poured lukewarm, boiled water into the mortar, running it over the pestle to clear off the herbal residue. The unmixed infusion was, in turn, poured into a larger bowl over a soft cloth. This bowl I brought to the boy’s bedside. I squeezed the cloth, first in the water to facilitate saturation, and then above the bowl to leave it damp, rather than dripping. I brought the rag to the side of his neck and gently lifted his head from his pillow to set it under him, just where the curve of his skull connected to his spine.

Then I took another cloth, wet it in the herbal water, and wrung it out at a trickle into his mouth until about a mouthful had gone down.

_That’s all I can do for now._

I stood up, took the bowl back to the sink, and poured it out. As I left, I gave Eric one last glance.

“You’ll be okay,” I said quietly. “I promise.”

* * *

 

“Mr. Hebert,” I said with a formal nod.

“Annatar,” my dad replied. “I hear I have you to thank for my quick recovery?” I could see the struggle in his face. Fortunately, the only people who could see us were the couple of doctors who knew how I had insisted on healing him personally—and they were, I was fairly sure, quite aware of our relationship. Still, it paid to be cautious, if only to maintain plausible deniability.

I nodded again. “I had some part in it, yes,” I said. “My shift is done for today. If you’d like, I can accompany you to your transportation?”

“Yes, I—yes. That sounds fine.”

I smiled. “Very well.” I stood up. “We’ll be going, then. Thank you, Dr. Matthews.”

“Thank _you_ , Annatar.”

We carefully kept our distance until we reached the windowless van the PRT had provided to take my dad home. I led him inside, and as soon as the door closed, I threw myself into his arms.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I whispered.

He chuckled weakly. “That’s my line.”

Dad was holding back tears. I felt the arms around me shuddering slightly as the car began to move. The ride home was about twenty minutes. I only let go of him after fifteen, so I could get out of my armor.

Soon, we were seated around the old dining table once more. It felt like an age of the world had passed since last we had.

For a moment we sat there, simply drinking in each other’s presence.

“So.” I broke the silence. “None of the pizza places do deliveries anymore, so I think we have to cook dinner tonight. I went shopping yesterday, so we won’t starve.”

Dad cracked a smile. “You really thought of everything.”

I snorted. “Hey, _I’d_ be the one starving.”

He started laughing. I did too. It was a release like none I’d had in weeks.

Eventually, of course, we had to talk about all that happened. I had visited him a few times while he’d been in the hospital, and he’d been watching the news, but there was so much he _wasn’t_ up-to-date on.

He knew I’d killed Bakuda—and it was interesting to hear what he’d gotten from the news. “They mostly love you. ‘The Ward who saved the city.’ But there’s a couple stations and papers that are blaming you for the EMP.”

“Only a couple?”

He nodded. “Most of them seem happy that Bakuda’s gone—and the fact that the PRT announced that her bomb was supposed to be _bigger_ is making people very happy that you stopped her when you did.” But he was frowning. “Taylor—you killed her.”

“I did.”

“I’m not going to tell you that was wrong,” Dad said quietly. “I’m glad I’ve never had to make a choice like that, and more than anything I’m sorry you _have_. Just… are you okay?”

I smiled slightly. “Yes,” I said simply.

“Then that’s all I care about.” He still sounded concerned, all the same.

I reached out and put my hand over his. “There’s still a lot to catch you up on.”

I told him about the Seven, and how I had given them to my teammates. I told him about that horrible night, two and a half weeks ago now, when I had nearly killed all my friends. I told him about Belthronding and the Black Arrow. I told him about Arcadia, and about Jackson, Annabelle, Pauline, and Charles, who had quickly become, if not friends, then at least amicable acquaintances. I told him about my therapy, and about the PRT’s desire to send me to San Diego for training.

“They need your consent, though,” I said. “You’re my guardian, not them.”

He considered me seriously. “Do you _want_ to do this? To go to San Diego for the whole summer?”

“It’s only six weeks,” I corrected him. “And—yeah, I think I do. I have a lot to learn. I almost lost _everything_ against Bakuda. What if, next time, it’s the Slaughterhouse Nine? Or an Endbringer? I need to learn to fight, and to lead, if I’m going to be building a group of Ring-Bearers.”

“Are you still planning on leaving the Wards eventually, then?” Dad asked. “Making your own group?”

I honestly hadn’t thought about it in a while. “I don’t know. Maybe. I like the Protectorate, and the Wards, and the PRT, and I still have a lot to learn from them. When I started out, I didn’t see how much I needed to _know_ —I only knew I needed support. Maybe I’ll leave when I feel ready, but... I’m not ready yet.”

Dad nodded. “I’m glad, you know?” he said. “The Wards are safer.”

I chuckled and thought of Bakuda. “Not always.” Then I looked out the window and blinked. “Wait, when did it get dark? We need to make dinner!”

It wasn’t anything complicated, just grilled cheese sandwiches and canned tomato soup. After we’d finished, there was one more thing to do that night.

“Dad,” I said hesitantly, “I did a lot of thinking after you got injured.”

He winced slightly. “Okay?”

“I—” I swallowed. “I feel stupid, because I never even thought of giving you a Ring.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know—it’s Bakuda’s. But still. I don’t want you to get hurt like that again.” I met his eyes. “I thought about giving you one of the Three, but—you don’t match any of them. And giving a Ring of Power to someone who doesn’t fit them would be a bad idea.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said firmly. “I trust you, Taylor.”

I smiled. “So, yeah—no Ring of Power. But… well. I made you something.”

From my pocket I withdrew a small, gold ring with a white stone set in the band. “This is a magic ring,” I said, holding it out to him. “It’s _not_ a Ring of Power. It’s a Lesser Ring. It doesn’t make you a cape, or anything like one. All it’ll do is make you more likely to survive dangerous situations. It’s not a huge upgrade, but it’ll help keep you safe.”

He gingerly reached out. “Are you sure—”

“Yes,” I said immediately. “I love you, Dad. I don’t want to lose you.”

His eyes glittered with tears. “Okay. I love you too, Taylor.” And he took up the ring.

* * *

 

Dad picked me up from school the next day. Well, he didn’t have a car, so “picked me up” meant that he walked to Arcadia in time to be there when I got out. I took the opportunity to introduce him to the others.

“Dad,” I said, “these are Dennis, Annabelle, Charles, Dean, Pauline, and Jackson. Everyone, this is my dad.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hebert,” said Annabelle with a winning smile, holding out a hand for him to shake. “We’ve heard a lot about you. Taylor was so excited you were getting out this week.”

“I wasn’t _that_ bad,” I protested.

Dennis raised a hand and tilted it side to side in a so-so gesture. Then he lightened the blow by winking at me. I was distracted, however, by how Dad’s eyes went to his fingers, and to Silmaya glimmering there.

I hadn’t thought of that. _Of course, with a Lesser Ring, he’ll be able to see Rings of Power._ Not that it mattered—I trusted Dad—but it was something to note.

“I mean, _my_ parents were excited about Mr. Hebert getting out of the hospital too,” Jackson said with a roll of his eyes. “So, you know, cut Taylor some slack.”

Dad blinked at him. “Hm? Do I know your parents?”

“My uncle’s a Dockworker,” Jackson replied. “Ben Kim? He always says you got him his job.”

“Oh!” Dad grinned. “Ben, yes. Good man.” Then his face fell. “I hope he still _has_ the job, with everything that’s been happening.”

Jackson shrugged. “He’s managing. We’re eligible for disaster relief, and he’s doing odd jobs until the union calls him. He hasn’t needed to ask anyone for help.”

“Good for him!” Dad was smiling properly now. “He hates asking for help. Took him a while to come to me when his manager caused him trouble a few years back.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, staring at Jackson. “You told me _none_ of this.”

Jackson shrugged unapologetically. “Didn’t make the connection until yesterday, to be honest.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Seriously? How many Heberts do you know?”

“Twice as many as I did yesterday,” said Jackson easily.

“Do me a favor and tell Ben to get in touch with me?” Dad said. “I’ve probably got a lot of work to do.”

“You’re allowed to take a four-day weekend after getting out of the hospital, Dad,” I protested.

He grinned at me. “Why wait?”

I studied him for a moment. He looked… light. He held himself like a man ten years younger than the father I had last known, and the lines of care and grief which marred his face had smoothed somewhat.

My finger twitched, and on it, Narya glimmered, like the light of a warm hearth.

 _Did I do this?_ I wondered, as I considered my father, so suffused with warmth and hope that I scarcely recognized him.

A faint breeze from the west brushed my hair out of my face, its touch like gentle fingers. I blinked and returned to the present. Dad was still talking to the others, but Dean was looking at me, his brow furrowed in concern.

I smiled at him, and his brow cleared as he smiled back.

I was fine.

* * *

 

The next day was Friday, and Dad and I went out to an Italian place downtown. It was the first time I’d had a meal at a restaurant since Lung’s escape, and it was a good one.

“When you’ve been eating cafeteria food for two weeks,” I said between bites, “there’s nothing quite like a really good shrimp scampi.”

“Hospital food,” Dad said. “I win.”

“True.”

The restaurant had been _affected_ by the EMP, of course, but this one in particular had recovered quickly. Part of that was that its ambiance tended towards candlelight and fireplaces anyway, so all they’d had to repair was the stove and oven. Another part was that it was downtown, and had been away from the worst of Bakuda’s bombings. Its clientele had less to rebuild, and thus could afford restaurants this soon after the disaster.

“Oh,” I said, glancing up from my food. “Dad, I meant to ask—can Sophia come over tomorrow, to spend the night?”

Dad blinked and looked searchingly at me. “Really?”

I nodded. “She had me over last weekend,” I said, “when I was tired of staying on the Rig. Dad—she _really_ needs to get out of that house. It’s toxic.”

Dad’s eyes widened. “That bad?”

“Bad enough I’ve thought of reporting it,” I said. “I haven’t, just because there’s so much for the PRT to deal with already. As soon as things settle down more, I’ll see what I can do about it, but for now…?”

Dad nodded slowly. “Okay. I think I’d like to talk to her anyway.”

I winced. “Don’t be too hard on her. She feels _really_ terrible.”

“And she should!” Dad’s voice was indignant. “She—”

“I know,” I interrupted. “But—” I shook my head. “You’ll get it when you meet her.”

* * *

 

I arrived on the Rig at 10:02 AM. At 10:03, I was accosted by Carlos on my way to my locker.

“Annatar. Get your armor on.” His voice came from behind me in the hallway.

I started and spun around. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Then I caught up with what he was saying. “Wait, why? What’s happened?”

“Piggot’s back,” he said shortly. “Or she will be in an hour. Just found out. I want the team there to greet her.”

I stared at him. “Piggot’s back?”

He nodded. “You get it?”

“I get it. I’ll be changed in a minute.”

We assembled in the main garage, each of us fully armed and in costume. Our backs were to the wall, our faces to the opening door. Aegis stood to my left, and beyond him were, in order, Clockblocker, Gallant, and Vista. Sophia stood to my right. Past her were Kid Win and Browbeat.

I liked to think we cut quite an imposing image. Eight Ring-Bearers assembled in unity.

Piggot looked paler than I remembered, and certainly thinner. She also had a cane—one she refused to use, though I could see her protesting legs tremble faintly.

She stopped in the middle of the garage, Miss Militia on one side of her and Deputy Director Renick on her other. Both looked ready to catch her should she fall, but she stood tall and straight, still steadfastly refusing to lean upon her cane.

“Wards,” she said.

“Director,” Aegis replied.

She considered him. “What is this about? You’ve already been disciplined for what happened three weeks ago.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Clockblocker, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “But not by you!”

“And you think this is going to make me go easy on you?” Her voice was sharp.

“No, Ma’am,” I said. Her eyes fixed on me. “We’re just glad to have you back.”

Her gaze bored into mine for a moment, before a faint grin touched her lips. “It’s good to _be_ back, Annatar,” she said quietly. Then her smile disappeared. “I’ll want to see you and Aegis in my office, individually, tomorrow, but I won’t have time today. Now get out of my way—I’ve got work to do.”

We parted for her as the three of them passed into the Rig proper.

“She’s actually not pissed at all,” Chris said once the door had closed behind them, his tone marveling. “I thought she’d flip.”

“She’s not _pissed_ ,” said Sam. “She is disappointed, a bit.”

“Exactly,” agreed Sophia, nodding. “She’s glad we nailed Bakuda, I guess, but not happy that she had to sit out three weeks because of it.”

“I probably wouldn’t be happy about that either,” Vista said. “Still. She’s gotta give us shit, right? It’s basically her job.”

“She has to give _me_ shit,” Carlos corrected. “I was in command.”

“And me,” I put in. “I killed Bakuda, and organized everything.”

“And me,” said Sophia, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “I told you she was coming. Can we stop the blame game? We _all_ fucked up that night.”

“We did,” agreed Gallant. “And next time we face a serious threat, we’ll do better.”

* * *

 

“Sophia, this is my dad,” I introduced. “Dad, this is Sophia.”

The afternoon sun shone over us in the doorway as Dad studied my friend. She shuffled awkwardly, looking down at her feet.

“…Come in,” he said eventually, standing aside.

I led her in, and he shut the door behind us. “So, Sophia,” he said conversationally. “You knew Taylor from Winslow, right?”

Sophia practically buckled, so hard did she shudder. I touched her arm and glared reproachfully at Dad, but he didn’t look at me. His gaze was fixed on her.

“…Yes,” she said, eventually. Then she stood straight and looked at him. “Yes,” she repeated. “I was the one who shoved her in that locker. Emma and I tortured her for almost two years. I—I can never undo that.”

Her hands came up and rubbed at her face, and I saw something flicker in Dad’s face as the green light of Cenya reflected in his eyes. Surprise?

 _Cenya,_ I realized. _He didn’t realize that, when I said I gave Rings of Power to the Wards, that I was including Sophia._

“Believe me,” she said, dropping her hands, “I feel _really_ stupid about it now.”

Dad considered her for a moment more, but there was an odd, slightly confused look in his eyes. “Okay,” he said eventually. “Taylor wants me to tolerate you, so I will. I don’t think I can forgive you, Sophia, but… well, I trust Taylor.” Then he smiled. “Welcome. I’ll make some snacks.”

* * *

 

It was an alarm that woke me the next morning. I fumbled for my electric clock, only to find it absent.

I sat up, blinking the sleep out of my eyes. “What…?”

Sophia was sitting bolt upright in her sleeping bag. Her eyes were wide, her pupils were dilated, and her breathing was rapid. Jerkily, she turned to face me. “Is that…?”

It was. I recognized the sound, from a thousand schoolyard drills and educational videos. From my worst nightmares. It was hollow and sonorous, droning at a single piercing pitch and pulsing slowly and regularly.

The light outside shone pale through the marine fog of the early morning. The day was deceptively calm—ordinary—but already I could hear the clamouring of hundreds of thousands of people in varying states of panic.

Something happened then that had not happened since that moment, so many weeks ago, when I had first slipped Narya upon my finger. My heart hammered, my skin went cold, and I keenly felt the blood rushing in my veins. For the first time in weeks, the shade of fear came upon me. It wasn’t paralyzing—it couldn’t control me—but it was _there_ , like the shadow of some great looming thing, impossible to ignore.

My tongue slipped out and wetted dry lips before I spoke.

“Endbringer.”

_End Arc 5: Hearth_


	47. Douse 6.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Assembler, @frustratedFreeboota, and @skyrunner for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

“Dad!” I hollered, hammering on his door.

“I’m coming!” His voice was slightly higher than usual, and I heard a frantic racket from inside the bedroom—drawers opening and closing rapidly and various items being tossed aside.

From down the hall, Sophia jogged out of my room, her duffel bag under her arm. “Think you can carry me?” she asked, slightly out of breath. “It’ll be the fastest way to get to the staging area.”

“Sure,” I said, unclipping the Jewelry Box from the back of my armor and opening it with a whisper. Off came Vilya, and on came Nenya.

Even as I shut the box, Dad’s bedroom door opened. He looked disheveled and his eyes were wild, but he was dressed and a small bag was on his back. “Taylor,” he said, staring at me, resplendent in my armor. “Are you sure—”

“I’m fighting, Dad.”

He bit his lip. I held out a hand to forestall Sophia when she moved to speak. Seconds passed, and I watched him, unmoving.

“…Okay,” he said, finally, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Okay.”

I nodded. “We’ll have to split up as soon as we’re out the door, to protect our identities,” I said. “Let’s go. Be careful, okay?”

“You too.” He swallowed. “Please, _please_ be careful.”

“I will. I promise.” I turned to Sophia. “Think you can carry Aeglos for me?”

“I’ll try.”

“Then let’s go.”

* * *

 

“Annatar!”

“Aegis.” I stopped and set Sophia down gently, taking Aeglos from her and leaning on it as I turned to face my team leader.

The Parahuman Response staging area was a surprisingly quiet and organized affair. No panicking civilians lingered here — they had all long since vacated this part of the town. A single six-story building sat alone on a grassy knoll, and beyond it I could see the ocean. The rising sun was shrouded, hidden behind a thick, black cloud—a massive, tall thunderhead, towering upward for miles. Below it was a curtain of rain so thick that no light passed through it, save the occasional flash of lightning.

Armsmaster stood upon that hill, beside the head of a great, four-legged Dragon-suit, golden and glittering. Miss Militia and the other members of the Protectorate stood together nearby, talking lowly.

Even at this distance, I could see it creeping steadily closer, as furious as any hurricane and inexorable as the tide.

“Leviathan,” Sophia breathed beside me.

“Yes.” Aegis’ voice was hard. “Come on, you two. We need to go to the briefing.”

We followed him, picking our way between mixed groups of heroes, villains, and rogues. Soon I spotted Clockblocker and Kid Win standing together—and with them…

Sophia practically growled beside me, her hackles rising. “ _Grue._ ”

The three turned to us. Clockblocker nodded. “Annatar, Shadow Stalker.”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Sophia hissed, jabbing a finger at Grue, “is _he_ doing here?”

“Fighting,” said Grue. I’d only heard his voice once or twice before. It was oddly hollow, ringing from his black motorcycle helmet as though he spoke from within a deep, wide cavern. “Would you rather I sit with my thumb up my ass while—”

“Enough,” I said. “Where are the others?”

“On their way,” Kid Win replied. “Vista’s gone to pick up Gallant and Browbeat.”

“Someone say my name?” Vista’s melodic voice came from behind me.

“Ah,” said Gallant, coming to stand at my left. “Grue. They released you?”

“Technically. I had to promise to come back quietly after the fight,” Grue said, chuckling. The sound was ghastly as it echoed in his helmet. “We’ll see.”

“That’s not a concern right now,” I said. “What—”

I was interrupted by a sound like a muffled thunderclap, coming from the center of the empty lot behind me. I turned.

Alexandria stood there, standing as tall and dark as the grey tower emblazoned on her chest. She hovered some three inches above the ground, and her heavy cape waved ponderously in the cold breeze. Beside her were her teammates, each recognizable in their own right—Rime, Bleak, Arbiter, Guile, and Usher. They strode forward, following their leader as she approached Armsmaster and Dragon. Meanwhile the man in blue and black—Strider—who had teleported them in disappeared in another, smaller thunderclap.

“It’s almost inspiring,” murmured Browbeat. “How we all come together for this.”

I glanced at him, then followed his gaze. There was Lung, tall and bulky, and beside him was Kaiser in his complex armor and crown. They were hunched slightly into each other in private conversation, and their lieutenants stood around them.

“Yeah,” said Gallant. “Almost.”

“Grue!”

“Tattletale.”

I turned. The blonde in the purple bodysuit was running up towards us, and beside her was the same jester who had concussed me the last time we fought.

They came to a halt beside us. Tattletale shifted on the balls of her feet. “Grue,” she said haltingly. “I—are you—”

“I’m fine.” His voice was cool and hard. There was none of the warmth I’d have expected for a former teammate.

Tattletale’s lips pursed. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Grue didn’t answer, except by turning away.

Tattletale swallowed visibly. Then she sighed, shrugged, and glanced at me. “By the way,” she said, “Circus thought you were a brute. Never meant to hit you that hard.”

“I can apologize for myself, thanks.” Circus’ voice was low for a woman’s. She looked at me. “I’m sorry, Annatar,” she said. “It was—I wasn’t trying to hurt you as badly as I did.”

I studied her. Her shoulders were tense, her legs straight, her arms folded behind her. “This has really been bothering you,” I said wonderingly.

“I almost killed a kid,” Circus said. Her voice was hollow—not literally, like Grue’s, but in tone. “That’s the kind of thing that bothers you, yeah.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “But—yeah, sure, I forgive you. I’m still going to try and take you in the next time we see each other, though”

“Sure you’re not going to just chop our heads off?” Tattletale’s smile was sharp and toothy. “I hear you’ve got a knack for it.”

A few of my Wards tensed around me, but I met the blonde’s eyes. “It’s not my fault,” I said clearly, “that you fucked Grue over this badly.”

She staggered back, blinking. “You—”

“Escalation,” I told her. “Don’t bring a knife if you’re afraid to be stabbed.”

She pouted at me. “Hey, this is _my_ shtick. I’ve been doing this for _years_.”

“If this is how you’ve been doing it,” I said, smiling falsely, “I can’t believe you’re still alive and free.”

She squinted at me, but I noticed how she suppressed a flinch. “I’ll get you,” she said, waggling her finger at me. “There can be only one.”

I rolled my eyes and turned away as Aegis cleared his throat.

“Door’s opening,” he said. “Let’s go.”

We Wards—and Grue—followed him in through the building’s main doors into a large lobby. A matrix of folding chairs had been set up—and was still being set up, around the edges, by heroes and PRT officers. Three large screens were set up at the front of the room, and behind them were large, open windows, looking into the east and the oncoming storm.

A young man who seemed to be made entirely of metal found himself in our group by the crush of people. He was a dark grey, primarily, with veins of brightest silver tracing his arms where veins would have been on an ordinary human.

“Hey,” he said, “you’re Wards, too, right?”

Aegis nodded. “Wards ENE,” he said. “Local branch. You?”

“Weld. Boston branch. Is this all of you?”

Aegis nodded. “I’m the team captain. Name’s Aegis. These are Clockblocker, Gallant, Vista, Kid Win, Browbeat, Shadow Stalker, and Annatar.”

Weld gave us smiles in turn as we were introduced. He wore no mask, and despite the oddity of his metallic features, his smile was a nice one—wide, gentle, and honest. He did not seem at ease, exactly, but he seemed to be going into the day with no loose ends tying him down.

“How about you?” Gallant asked. “Did your team come?”

“Some,” Weld replied. “Buckler and Pinprick. They’re around. Most of them couldn’t get permission from their parents, or they’d be here too. _All_ of you got permission?”

Kid Win nodded. “It was hard to convince them,” he admitted. “But yeah.”

I glanced at him, and remembered a conversation he and I had once had about courage and heroism.

Before Weld could say any more, however, a familiar voice called from nearby. “Annatar!”

I turned. It was Laserdream, and beside her…

“Shielder,” I said, smiling. “Good to see you on your feet.”

He grinned back, his visor doing little to hide the joy in his expression. “It’s good to _be_ back on my feet.”

“That’s what I wanted to ask about,” said Laserdream. “Annatar, is he safe to be in this fight?”

“Is anyone?” I countered, then shook my head. “Sorry. Yeah, he’s good.”

“I told you!” Shielder said, smirking at his sister. She didn’t smile back as she looked at him. Her teeth worried her lower lip for a moment. Then she turned—not to me, but to Clockblocker.

“Be careful,” she murmured.

“You too,” he replied quietly.

She seemed to struggle with herself for a moment before coming forward. He met her halfway, and they embraced. Then, without another word, she turned and returned to her cousins, Shielder following after her.

“Hey, while we’re on the topic of fraternizing with other hero teams,” said Kid Win brightly, turning to Gallant, “have you and—”

“We’re talking,” said Gallant, cutting him off. “We’re not together yet, but she seems to want to try again.”

“ _Again_ is right,” muttered Vista.

“We need to find seats,” Aegis suddenly said. “Look—Legend’s getting ready to speak.”

So he was. The leader of the Protectorate, eye-catching in his bright white and blue, was pacing in front of one of the three screens, looking across the crowded room.

“There.” Browbeat pointed at a section of the grid of chairs that was relatively empty. We picked our way through and took our place.

I took the opportunity to look around the room. Many faces I recognized. Many more I didn’t. I spotted the adults of New Wave, and over there was most of the local Protectorate. Many heroes from further afield mingled among them. In another part of the room was Empire Eighty Eight. Lung and Oni Lee were both in attendance, as were Faultline and her crew.

The Merchants, however, had not come. Nor had Coil.

As we reached our seats, Legend cleared his throat and the conversation throughout the room died almost immediately. His voice was a clear tenor, with that piercing quality all great orators had, and he captured his audience’s attention as soon as he began to speak.

“We have Dragon and Armsmaster’s research to thank for the early warning,” he said. I glanced out at the storm outside—it didn’t _feel_ early. “We’ve had time to assemble and prepare, instead of jumping into the fight, one by one, as we arrive. This is a luxury we rarely get. With a little luck, some teamwork, and a lot of hard effort from each of us, I hold out hope that this could be one of the good days.”

_ But. _ I knew the Endbringer statistics. I knew what a ‘good’ day looked like. A good day looked like a war, followed by days of successive funerals and weeks of mourning.

It was still better than a _bad_ day, though.

“That being said, you should know your chances,” continued Legend. “Given our track record in past fights against Leviathan, this still means that one in four of us here will be going home in body bags.” _Or lost forever, body washed out to sea,_ he didn’t say.

Sophia shifted beside me. She wasn’t the only one—around the room, many capes were shuffling, glancing at one another for reassurance, though there was none to be had. It wasn’t that they didn’t know the numbers—most did—but to hear it said so directly cast things in a different light.

“You deserve to know this. I’m grateful for the chance to tell you—we don’t often get it. But beyond anything else, what I want to impress upon each of you is that you should _not_ underestimate Leviathan. I’ve seen too many good heroes”—he paused, for just a moment—“and villains, too, die because they let their guard down.”

_ Leviathan. Livyatan. Jörmungandr. _ No, I did not think I would be underestimating my enemy today.

Aegis touched my arm. “We need to pass out armbands,” he whispered in my ear.

“Armbands?”

“Dragon tech. It’ll keep the fighters coordinated. Tell Shadow Stalker and let’s go.”

I nudged Sophia, and she followed me out of our seats and over to the side of the room, where Miss Militia and a few other members of the various Protectorate teams were unpacking boxes of equipment. Wards from across the country were being given handfuls of these mechanical armbands, each bearing a square display screen and two buttons.

On a whim, I got in line for the box Miss Militia was working with. She stopped as she was handing me the gear.

“Annatar,” she said quietly. “Now isn’t the time for grudges.”

“Agreed,” I said.

“I’m sorry, for—”

I cut her off. “Me too. It’s fine.”

She forced a smile onto her face through the lines of care and worry. “Good luck out there.”

I smiled back. “You too, Miss Militia.”

I took the armbands and started making my way down a row of capes, handing one to each person. It was interesting, seeing the continuum of expressions and feelings.

Some were tense, like the Ward who passed me in the next aisle over. She wore a skintight purple-and-black costume, plated with silvery platinum, and bore a quiver of bolts and a crossbow on her back. She looked down as she passed me, avoiding my gaze.

Some were nervous, like the E88 cape I handed one armband to. From under the concealing cowl of her robe, Rune gave me a quick, harried smile as I passed. I smiled back.

Some were terrified. The local rogue Parian was practically quaking in her boots as Weld gave her an armband. She was nestled into one of her large minions, as though seeking to bury herself in the plush.

Some were even excited. One cape from out of town gave me a sharp smirk as I handed her an armband. She wore a frilly little dress and didn’t look more than eight or nine, but there were years behind her eyes. I didn’t smile back at that one.

As I finished with my row, Armsmaster took the podium and explained the functions of the armbands. I listened, and then returned to my seat with the other Wards.

Legend returned to the stage. “Capes! If you’ve faced an Endbringer before, please stand!”

Most of the Protectorate, many of the out-of-town Wards, and a few others stood.

“When in doubt,” Legend continued, “the Protectorate should be the first people you listen to. We have trained and planned for this! If you don’t hear from one of us, the ones standing now are the next in the chain of command. They’ve been through this before, so trust their instincts.”

He took a deep breath and carried on, his voice loud and clear in the silence. “You’ll be splitting into groups based on your abilities. If you believe you can take a hit from Leviathan and survive, or if you can produce expendable combatants, you’ll be on the front line. Alexandria and Dragon will direct you.”

_ That’s my cue. _ With Nenya’s protection, in conjunction with my armor—and my helmet, newly padded after my close call with Circus—I was hopefully going to be able to survive at least most of what the Endbringer would do to me.

Sophia grabbed my hand as I stood and began to leave. I turned back to her. Her eyes were glittering under her mask, somehow brighter than usual.

“Don’t die,” she whispered.

I smiled at her. “I don’t plan on it.” I squeezed her hand, and pulled away. She let me go.

Alexandria’s lips were turned down into a stern frown when I joined her and her growing group in one corner. Her gaze swept across the group.

“You heard Legend,” she said. Her voice was low enough that the larger group of unassigned capes would still be able to hear Legend, but carried well enough that I had no trouble making it out. “We’re the first line of defense. What he said about hemming Leviathan in? That’s on us.

“We don’t have time to go through everyone’s abilities and figure out exactly who should be where, so I’m just going to assume each of you knows your powers. We’re going to get in close—and if that sounds like suicide, _good_ , it means you’ve got survival instincts.” She smiled mirthlessly. “Try not to die. Our primary objective is _keeping Leviathan in place_. Like Legend said, we _cannot_ afford to allow him free reign through the city. We’re the shield wall, you understand? We’re the phalanx.”

There was a round of nods.

“Good,” she said. “Then—”

Suddenly, a hero I didn’t recognize gave a shout: “ _Incoming!_ ” The group around him—shakers, mostly, some of whom I recognized—acted as one. Shields and forcefields went up both behind and in front of the rear windows as a wall of water rushed forwards towards us. They weren’t enough. On the left, the shields fell away, shattering like prismatic glass, and water rushed in, crushing one of the three screens even as they flickered between images of the city’s coastline being ravaged by tidal waves.

But that wasn’t what drew my eye. No, my eye was drawn to the middle screen, which for an instant showed an image of an oncoming wave, taken from a camera at ground level. The cresting wall of water seemed to hang in the air like so much green crystal—and deep within its heart, shrouded in brine, was the silhouette of a tall figure.

The image flickered on the screen for only an instant, but it was burned into my mind. The figure was disproportionate, alien. Its shoulders were too broad for its hips, its neck too wide for its head. Its legs were digitigrade, jointed oddly, and four pinpricks of laser-green light glowered from its face—three from the left, and one from the right.

All this I saw in the barest moment for which that image remained visible—and none of it left half as much of an impression as the flash I saw with some sense other than my eyes. Something _shone_ , a piercing glow as bright as any star, deep within the monster’s chest, shining straight through the flesh of its body and the watery bulwark as though they were no more barrier than a thin veil of cloth.

Then the moment was gone, and the image passed away. Legend was shouting, “Strider, get us out of here!”

Then there was sound, and pressure. Air was forced out of my lungs as the violent rush of noise filled my ears. Nenya flared, and I weathered the sensation.

In a moment, I found myself outside—I, and all the others. We were on a street I recognized, higher up from the water, but still with a clear view of both the sea and the Boardwalk—or what was left of it. The wooden framework was crushed, shattered, scattered, until it was less a path and more a tangled mess of broken and twisted beams.

And _it_ was there, too, visible through the spray and rain only as a shadow, but one which Nenya cast in sharp, horrific relief. It was thirty feet tall or more, and most of that was legs—legs which were long and spindly and seemed almost too weak to hold it up.

The light was still there—that glaring radiance which pierced through air, water, and flesh undimmed, shining where the thing’s heart should have been. It was, at once, the most beautiful and the most terrible thing I had ever seen. The beast seemed wrapped around it like a cocoon of spider’s silk twined around her meal, layer upon layer.

Leviathan began to approach.

“Form up!” Alexandria bellowed. Around us, the other groups were organizing.

I found myself beside Aegis. “Ready?” he asked.

I swallowed. Words came unbidden. “Spear shall be shaken,” I whispered, “shield be splintered—”

“Get ready!” Legend hollered.

Even as he spoke, Leviathan was rushing forward, as fast as any speedster, moving like a torpedo. Its echo of water trailed it, sending ripples crashing through the water, shattering stone and asphalt and concrete. In a moment it was upon us, and blood and water sprayed like so much seafoam.

I raised Aeglos and charged into the storm.

_ —A sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises. _


	48. Douse 6.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Assembler, @frustratedFreeboota, and @skyrunner for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

_Trainwreck down, CD-5. Chubster down, CD-5. Bearach down, CD-5._

The names went on, droning forth from the armband, even as the battle joined and chaos broke out all around me. I leveraged Nenya into movement and resilience, forcing myself forwards in the crowd, pushing through the capes until I was in the front ranks. The star in the monster’s breast was blinding—or would have been, had it the power to blind. Even through the glare, I could still see perfectly.

“Surround him!” Alexandria roared. She rose into the air and dove for the Endbringer’s face. Meanwhile, capes not in the frontline group fell back behind us. Armsmaster and Chevalier were rallying the strikers into a second rank.

But none of that was my concern. I hefted Aeglos and leapt upward to strike wildly at Leviathan’s shoulder as the Endbringer twisted and wove between attacks, its back bent as it loomed over us.  The blow went wide, and the spear’s point missed its target and embedded itself in the trailing water echo. Around its blazing tip, the water froze solid. The chunk of ice fell and shattered uselessly against Leviathan’s broad back.

It turned its back to me as it grabbed for Alexandria with one hand while the other clawed at the capes on the ground. Its tail whipped up, snaking around and knocking over those closest. I barely dodged it, and almost managed to stab at it with Aeglos as it passed me. Again I missed, striking only the echo left in its wake.

A crossbow bolt, longer and heftier than Sophia’s, flew past my head, whistling shrilly. It punctured through the water echo without resistance and sank into the ground beyond.

That was when Leviathan seemingly decided to stop sitting in the middle of us. It leapt, pushing itself up with water, and lunged at Alexandria. She leapt backward in the air, out of its reach, but was consequentially too far away to react when the Endbringer turned on a dime and dove for one of the others.

I didn’t know him. He was clad in a full coating of chitinous armor, with bright, razor-sharp blades emerging from his forearms, and eyes which glowed a pale yellow under his mandibled helm. Leviathan threw itself into him and pushed him back a few staggering steps. Then it spun, as though drilling into him and over him, and its water echo whirled around him in flat discs. The brute’s armor was flayed away in seconds by the maelstrom, rent apart as if by sawblades, and the man within was thrown aside to smack into one of the others, bleeding heavily.

_Carapacitator down, CD-5._

Leviathan leapt again, landing on all fours and already running, skating over the top of the water. I had to dive backwards to dodge its echo as it barreled past, straight over the fallen body of Carapacitator. As it passed, it stooped, and its echo scooped him back up into itself, suspending the fallen cape in the water.

His mask had shattered, and I saw a pale, broken face looking back at me. The yellow eyes looked all too human now, as did the pinched expression of stark terror set in every line of his features.

Then, as if in slow motion, his body crumpled like an aluminum can under a sledgehammer. One limb at a time was crushed down into a thin smear, and the man was screaming in anguish, bubbles emerging from his mouth as from a valve, until at last his head, too, was squeezed into a pasty red pulp.

_Carapacitator deceased, CD-5._

The entire process had taken some two seconds, and in that time Leviathan had already traveled the length of the street, dashing away from us like a bullet from a gun. Through the mess that had once been Carapacitator that horrible, beautiful star still shone bright, piercing air, water, and flesh undiminished.

I blinked. I could still see it behind closed eyelids.

For a moment, I cursed Nenya, and the perception it granted me. I didn’t want the image of Carapacitator’s body being crushed like garbage in a compactor to be burned into my mind in minute detail. I wanted to be able to forget.

But it was better than being dead myself.

“After him!” Alexandria ordered, and we charged. I did not use Nenya to speed up, any more than was necessary to keep up with the others. I did not want to be alone when I reached Leviathan. Was it the same for them too? Many of the capes beside me were movers. Were they, like me, restraining themselves to stay with the pack?

The water grew deeper as we proceeded down towards the bay and the ruined boardwalk. Leviathan reached the destroyed frame before we did and turned left, towards the city proper. Its echo slammed against the timber and shattered what little structure remained like so many matchsticks.

He dove down a street and out of my sight.

“Fliers, we need to cut him off!” Alexandria barked. She rose, and others followed her. I recognized both Glory Girl and Aegis as they rose over the buildings and flew after the Endbringer.

“Non-fliers, keep after him!” That was Armsmaster, who I suddenly found beside me. He was still charging, a grim set to his mouth, continuing towards the turn Leviathan had taken.

I followed, but something in the corner of my vision made me glance to my right. I blinked.

“Wave!” someone screamed, but that was inadequate. The sheer wall of water bearing down on us was no wave. It was monumental, towering over the tallest of us by almost five feet, and pushing forward like a bulldozer.

“Brace!” That was Bastion’s resonant voice. “Shields up!”

The shakers put up their barriers. I saw the telltale stretching of space as Vista lengthened the distance, hoping to force the wave to wear itself out, but there wasn’t enough time, and this was no ordinary wave. All around me, capes were grabbing one another, or holding on to buildings and posts and preparing to weather the impact.

 _I am unbowed._ We _are unbowed._

Nenya flared, a star in the storm, eclipsed only by that bright pinprick I saw shining in the streets behind me. I saw the capes around me stiffen, as if braced against supports of adamant. I felt the rush as the Ring of Power lent itself to me.

The wave struck, and we were not swept away. Almost every one of the assembled capes stood firm under the onslaught, holding strong against the impact.

The water level sank surprisingly quickly. In mere moments my head broke the surface again. I spluttered and spat brine, but Armsmaster was already calling out. “Keep moving!”

We did, wading heavily through waist-high water. The tip of Aeglos was freezing passing droplets of water into a fine dusting of snow, which billowed around me and swirled down towards the sea.

Even as I followed Armsmaster as he waded through waist-high seawater, I was watching that bright light shining through the buildings and streets, undimmed by intervening stone. It was moving erratically now as Leviathan engaged the other capes in combat.

_Iron Falcon down, CD-5. Lady Photon down, CD-5. Oni Lee deceased, CD-5. Vantage down, CD-5.  Fierceling deceased, CD-5._

Then, as if at an unseen cue, the light changed tack, ceasing to dodge and instead darting straight towards us. The light grew no brighter, since it was already as bright as any light as I could imagine, but it grew nearer all the same as Leviathan approached. I heard the rumbling as it crashed through buildings on its way.

“He’s coming towards us!” I called out. “Through the buildings!”

Armsmaster nodded at me and shouted, “Get ready!”

I hefted Aeglos.

The building to our left shattered like an eggshell, sending fragments of stone and masonry flying out in clumps. The debris splashed into the water and crashed into the assembled capes, scattering foam and gore.

_Cloister down, CD-5. Triumph down, CD-5._

Leviathan emerged from the hole like an avenging god. Its claws were hooks seeking to catch and rend, its tail a flailing lash, and its water echo a tidal wave of mingled blood and brine.

_Crusader deceased, CD-5. Adamant down, CD-5. Pelter down, CD-5. The Erudite deceased, CD-5._

I met the Endbringer halfway. Gone was fear, at last. With Nenya streaming out power through me, I could no more be cowed by fear than by any other force. Aeglos shone brightest blue, and the light of Nenya mingled with the shimmer of my armor, setting the water all around me aglow in an incandescent, silver halo.

“ _Ego!_ ” I shouted, the Sindarin pouring forth in an unquenchable tide. “ _Ego, limlug, ulunn i gaer! Ú-hirithach si tûr!_ ”

I lanced forth with Aeglos, aiming straight for that shining thing in the center of its chest. Frost spread from the point where the blade touched the Endbringer’s flesh, and the point sank into it, fighting the resistance of its tough hide.

Leviathan recoiled, pulling itself off of the impaling spear and whipping around. Its tail struck me hard across the stomach, its water echo a second blow just as hard. I was thrown up and back out of the water to fly fifty, sixty feet or more, exhaling sharply as my body was dashed against the inside of my armor. I arced through the air like a missile, and hit the water headfirst and sank, sank like a stone, falling deeper and deeper into the dark water past the beach’s dropoff.

I struggled, trying to right myself, and eventually managed it so that my head was facing up towards the faint, flickering light shining down into the murky water from above. The salty brine stung my eyes, but I kept them open, allowing Nenya to fill me until the pain felt like little more than a passive reminder.

I was at least a hundred feet down. I could see faintly in the murk where the slope of the beach rose up. And though my armor had protected me from the worst of the impact, bouncing around in it had still left me winded. My lungs were anything but full.

But still Nenya’s power surged through me. I was _unbowed_.

I began to swim, pushing the water down behind me as I rose. Up and up I went, rising from the depths, rising towards that faint light from the rising sun.

My lungs were protesting when I started. Soon they were screaming. Every muscle in my body burned at the exertion. There was no oxygen, no life-giving air, with which to fuel my arms as they swung, up and down, propelling me forwards and upwards. My armor, light as the mithril was, still seemed immeasurably heavy. But still I swam, though my limbs felt like lead and my head spun like a top.

The world grew darker even as I drew closer to the light above. Blackness crept in around the edges of my vision. There was a sound in my ears on the very edge of hearing, like a choir singing. Every so often I could almost make out a word or phrase in Valarin, and every so often I thought I heard a voice I recognized joining in the song—mine.

Nenya was brighter than it had ever been. I could feel it coursing through me in waves of power, keeping me alive and focused, keeping me from succumbing to the horrible, fatal temptation to open my mouth and let the water flow in.

Then there were arms around me. I felt them pulling me up, taking me by my armor and pulling. I couldn’t see who it was. I could see very little besides the faint light above me, now, only a small glimmer which seemed miles away now.

I kept pushing water down, and the hands kept pulling me up. The last ten feet were the longest of all, and by the end of them, I had lost sight even of the light. I was blind.

Then the water broke around me. The cool air hit my face and I was gasping, coughing, and gasping again, desperately pulling sweet oxygen into my depleted lungs for the first time in what felt like an aeon.

The hands turned me and pulled me back with them as their owner made their way towards the shore. I spluttered, gasped, choked, and slowly the world came back into view.

All around me a storm raged. Leviathan’s fury had not abated, not even close. In fact, as we swam, my aid and I were tossed upward on the back of another wave. They fought to keep me above water, their grip tightening around me as they pushed their way through.

My back was into their side, and their right arm was around me while their left pulled at the water, propelling us back towards the shore. I looked down at my chest, and at the dark-skinned girl’s hand that was tightly clenched around me.

“Sophia?” I asked, the name coming out as little more than a wheeze.

“Save your breath,” she replied, her words strained with exertion and tension.

I nodded slowly and turned my attention to myself, focusing on breathing and getting my lungs used to the sensation of having air in them again.

We slowed as Sophia’s left hand came up to her face and she pressed the buttons on her wristband with her teeth, carefully not letting go of me. “Shadow Stalker here. I’ve recovered Annatar. Where should I take her?”

Without waiting for a reply, she continued swimming. I trailed behind like so much dead weight.

Sophia’s wristband crackled to life then. “Shadow Stalker.” It was Panacea’s voice. “We’ve set up in the lobby of a hotel, right near where Strider brought us to fight Leviathan. Bring her there.”

Sophia’s head bobbed against me, but other than that she made no reply.

A few moments later, my feet touched earth. I pulled away from Sophia and stood up. “Thank you,” I said. My voice was still weak, but at least now it sounded like a voice.

She turned to me. Under her mask, her eyes were bright and wet. “Don’t,” she said, her voice harsh and raw, “ _ever_ fucking do that again.”

I chuckled, and then found myself falling forward. Nenya was flickering. It was not that the Ring of Power was flagging. _I_ was flagging. I was not Nenya’s true Bearer, and never would be. I was the Ring-Maker, and so the Ring of Power would gladly lend itself to me, but I could never _complement_ it the way a true Bearer of Nenya would. _I_ could be bowed in a way a Bearer the Ring had chosen would not be. There was only so much it could do for me.

Sophia caught me. “Let’s get you to Panacea,” she said. “She, Othala, and the other healers have set up a sort of medical tent.”

“I’m fine,” I protested weakly. “I just need a minute to rest.”

The star that was Leviathan was still moving. I could see it through the buildings as it wound through the streets, dodging between capes and dealing blows when it was given opportunity.

_Gully down, CD-5. Resolute deceased, CD-5. Purity down, CD-5. Acoustic deceased, CD-5. Trainwreck deceased, CD-5._

“Then you can rest there,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Panacea can take a look at you.”

I nodded tiredly, giving up. “Fine. I’ll be able to help with Vilya when I recover.”

“Maybe,” she allowed, “but recover first.”


	49. Interlude 6a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Assembler, @frustratedFreeboota, and @skyrunner for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

Shadow Stalker’s voice broke on an anguished, wordless roar as Annatar was thrown aside by Leviathan. The Ring-Maker’s spear tumbled from her grip, clattering to the ground, and was kicked away by the Endbringer. It then turned away from the assembled capes and charged into the fragments of the boardwalk, pushing its way through the sharp splinters.

“Stay focused!” barked Armsmaster, but Shadow Stalker was already moving.

“Fuck you,” she growled as her form dissolved into shadow. “I’m going after Annatar.”

“Good luck,” said a voice. Gallant realized it was his own. He turned to Armsmaster.

The leader of the Protectorate ENE shook his head and faced towards the ruined wooden debris. “Keep going!”

But even as the assembled fighters followed him, Gallant could see their waning hope. The fear hung over them, visible to his powers as a sickly yellow cloud. These were the capes who couldn’t fly; the capes who couldn’t keep up. They would continue to be battered by Leviathan at _its_ leisure until they were broken. There was nothing they could do; they couldn’t keep up, they couldn’t _catch_ up, they could only wait for the Endbringer to come around again.

And without Nenya to keep them steadfast, now, Gallant wasn’t sure they’d last another assault. And even if they did, what then? More would come. And yet more after that, until all resistance was crushed.

“They’re flagging,” whispered Missy beside him.

“Yes,” he agreed. He turned to look at her. She was staring up at him, her eyes hidden behind her mask.

“Well?” she prompted.

“I know.”

He raised his left hand. The fire opal adorning the band of Araya burned like a captured flame.

Before, Gallant could only deliver emotion through specific and directed blasts. But when Dawn comes, it comes to all. He reached into his Ring of Power, and _pushed_.

For an instant, the thunderclouds over the sea seemed to split, and the light of the morning sun spilled golden over the city. Its light shone, reflected in the frightened, despairing eyes and practically glowed incandescent on Weld’s burnished frame, and on Armsmaster’s and Gallant’s own armor.

 _Hope_ came forth from Gallant then, and mingled with the light of the sun, suffusing each of the fighters there. As one, their backs straightened, their fists clenched, their heads were raised and held high.

For Gallant, however, the light of the sun in the East was matched and surpassed by the light he saw through new eyes as the Ring coursed through him. As Araya flowed through his blood, the world seemed almost to recede, so brilliant was that star in the streets to his left.

It lasted only a moment before the clouds closed again and Gallant allowed his Ring to dim. But the moment was enough. Their waning spirit had waxed again, and they were renewed and refreshed. The cloud of fear had been replaced by a sharper green aura of hope.

Missy put a hand on his arm for a moment. “Good job,” she whispered.

“Thanks.” It was always hard for Gallant to read his fellow Ring-Bearers. Their Rings of Power tended to color their aura in unexpected ways. But through the purpling shadows of Histeya, he could see a mixture of royal blue pride and light pink affection. Armsmaster was still moving, and the others followed, a surety in their movements that had not been there before. Brutes took the fore, shoving aside broken timbers to make way for the rest, and Gallant made to follow their lead, but Missy grabbed his hand.

“Come with me,” she said. “You and I should work S&R. I can be your mover, and you can help me get people out of trouble.”

Gallant nodded. “Not as though I can hurt Leviathan,” he agreed. “Okay.”

She smiled and stretched space so that a patch of roadway beside them led onto a nearby roof. Gallant followed her through.

Now that they were above the battle, and the city, there was a different quality to the air. Everything still smelled of brine and seaweed, but there was less frantic tension in every sound and sensation around them.

_Snaptrap deceased, CC-4. Brandish down, CC-4. Rail down, CC-4. Parian down, CC-4. Uglymug deceased, CC-4. Ironmonger deceased, CC-4._

Gallant looked down at his armband. The little screen was dotted with markers, pointing out the locations of injured capes who would need assistance, and one large marker a few blocks away, labeled _MEDICAL_.

“Looks like the healers have set up a drop point,” he said.

Missy nodded. “We’ll take anyone we recover there. Any ideas for where we go?”

“There’s someone a block down from here. To the west?”

“On it.” Missy formed another pathway and they stepped forward into a street.

Leviathan’s passage was visible. The walls to either side had been torn asunder. Rubble was heaped on the sides of the road like rocks on the banks of a river. Water flowed between, running down the slope of the street in a noisy rush.

There was a man visible, trapped half-buried in crumbling masonry, his blond hair trailing in the running water. His face was turned skyward and the pale light washed out all color in the skin of his closed eyelids, visible in the holes in his mask.

Gallant came forward and started pulling away the rubble holding him there. Missy helped, her power allowing him to move a boulder several feet with only the effort required to move it an inch.

“Do you think Annatar’s okay?” she asked. A faint hint of yellow had crept into her aura.

“Yes,” he said firmly.

“How can you tell?”

_Gully down, DB-3. Resolute deceased, DB-3. Purity down, DB-3. Acoustic deceased, CD-5. Trainwreck deceased, DB-3._

“Haven’t heard anything on the armband. And Shadow Stalker won’t let her die.”

Missy hummed an affirmation. The yellow dissipated.

The last boulder came free and Gallant leaned down, putting the side of his helmet against the man’s chest. He could faintly make out a heartbeat.

“Alive?”

“Yeah. Let’s get him to Pan—”

There was a thundering roar of rushing water from behind them. Gallant whirled. There was Leviathan, weaving through a swarm of flying capes, its water echo lashing out and striking at one after another. It had just turned a corner, shattering the building in its wake, and was coming fast towards them.

“Get us out of here!” he hollered, hoisting the unconscious man into his arms.

Missy didn’t answer except by pushing him sideways—and onto a nearby rooftop. “Keep going!” she ordered, already twisting space again.

Just as Leviathan crashed into the building they were on, they left it, passing into another street. One street at a time, they fled the battle, the man in Gallant’s arms weighing him down even as Missy shortened each distance.

_Miss Militia down, CD-2. Stormtiger deceased, CD-2. Impel down, CD-2. Cache deceased, CD-2._

Then, suddenly, they were there. Gallant pulled the man bodily into the derelict building and laid him out on a table.

“Let me at him,” ordered a woman in a black and green costume adorned with stars. Gallant didn’t recognize her, but he made space.

He took a moment to look around. The makeshift field hospital was cramped. Movers were arriving and leaving constantly, so that there were always one or two dropping off an injured cape. He saw Panacea at one bedside, slowly knitting together the flesh of one man whose chest had been torn open. There were other healers, tending to the wounded as they were able. Othala, he saw, was currently working on another local cape—Brandish.

“We should keep going,” Missy said beside him. “We’re no good here.”

“Right,” agreed Gallant, but took a moment before he turned to follow. He reached for Araya and release a hint of hope and resolve. The healers, he expected, would need it.

Then he turned and had to dodge aside to avoid being bowled over by a grim Shadow Stalker, and the unsteady Annatar she was leading.

“Oh, good,” Missy said, her relief palpable. “You’re okay.”

“Mostly,” said Annatar. Her voice was astonishingly weak, not at all like the orator’s tones Gallant had grown accustomed to. “I just need rest.”

“ _And_ a checkup,” growled Shadow Stalker. She looked at Gallant. “What are you two doing here?”

“S&R,” he replied. “Vista’s moving, and I’m helping.”

She nodded. “Good luck. I’ll be out there again soon.”

Suddenly the armbands all chimed in, and Gallant realized he hadn’t heard from them in some time.

_Horizon deceased, BD-1. Sundancer down, BD-1. Good Neighbor down, BD-1. Astrologer deceased, BD-1. Bambina down, BD-1._

“Sounds like the fight’s started up again,” said Missy. “We should go see what we can do.”

Gallant nodded. “Lead the way.”

He followed her out and through warped space, down flooded, crumbling streets, until suddenly they were behind Leviathan, and waist-deep in water.

The Endbringer was visible as a great, whirling mass, flailing and striking out erratically, amidst a localized rainstorm. The water fell so thick that it was almost easier to point out bubbles of air than droplets of rain. Capes flew around the monster’s head and arms and ran around its feet, making feeble attempts to strike at it with weapons and attacks. Those he didn’t dodge had little to no visible effect.

“Can you see anyone?” Gallant hollered at Missy over the thundering sound of rushing water, crumbling stonework, and shouting combatants.

“Not yet!”

Then, in one motion that would be forever ingrained in Dean’s mind, Leviathan surged upward. Its clawed hand caught one cape-clad flier with a sharp blow which sent them flying aside--and then its water echo followed a fraction of a second later with another crushing impact which launched them even further, tumbling into the road and leaving a trough of crushed asphalt behind them.

_Glory Girl down, BC-6._

Then Leviathan turned away and was dashing down the street again, shoving aside capes and fleeing further into the city.

Dean ignored it. He was running. He didn’t remember when he’d started, but he was at the fallen form in less than a second with Missy’s help.

Victoria Dallon looked ruined. Her chest looked practically caved in, and her left arm was bent at a horrible angle. Blood stained every inch of her, running in rivulets down her arms and legs, and matting her hair down over her eyes.

Dean leaned down and began to dig away at the rubble. “Come on, Vicky,” he said, and could barely recognize his own voice. “Come on, we’ll get you out of here and get you to Amy.”

“Dean?” her voice was little more than a croak. “Is that you?”

“It’s me, Vicky,” he said gently. “It’s me, I’m here. Let’s get you out.”

“Help me.” Her aura was overpoweringly yellow, fearful. Or was that his own?

“I’m here, I’m helping. Just hold on, Vicky.”

Missy was helping him dig, and together they were pulling aside the rubble. Vicky gasped as one stone after another came away, red and slick with her blood. “Dean,” she was whispering, “Dean, help. Dean, I can’t see…”

And Dean was replying in an ongoing murmur, his voice quavering slightly, “I’m here, Vicky. I’ve got you.”

Soon she was free, and he pulled her up as best he could. She let out an agonized groan as he lifted her. He took a moment to push aside her hair as Missy warped space around her. “Vicky,” he said, looking into her blue eyes, “Vicky, can you see me? I’m here.”

“I see you,” she whispered, her good arm coming up. It left a smear of blood on his helmet as she stroked his cheek. “Dean. You came.”

“Of course I came,” he whispered, following Missy through warped and twisted space.

“We’re almost there,” his teammate said lowly. “Just hold on, Vicky.”

Vicky ignored her—or possibly couldn’t hear her. “Dean,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I never—it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry I took it out on you…”

“Save your breath,” he said gently. “It’s okay, I forgive you. Just hold on.”

“Dean,” she whispered, her hand still trailing along his mask. “I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not going to die,” he said, feeling his heart hammering in his throat. “We’ll get you to Amy and you’ll be fine. She’ll take care of you.”

 _Heavy casualties, please wait._ Their armbands spoke as one.

Vicky was staring up at him through glazed eyes. Her mouth was working slowly as she tried to form words. “I’m scared,” she finally whispered.

 _So am I._ “You’ll be okay. I’m here.”

“You’re here.” She almost smiled through ruined, bloodstained lips. Her aura surged weakly, a soft pink. “I love you, Dean.

“I love you too, Vicky.” _Have I ever actually told you that before? I must have. Why can’t I remember?_

Vicky leaned her head back against the crook of his elbow and didn’t reply. Her aura was flickering like a candle in a strong wind.

They hurried on in silence through shortened streets, making their way uphill towards the inner city and the field hospital.

Dean looked back down at Vicky. Was she still breathing? He couldn’t be sure—not while he was running. Her eyes were closed, now, and her head was limp against his arm.  Her aura was so faint, now, that he wasn't sure whether he was imagining it.

“We’re here.” That was Missy. Dean looked up and, sure enough, they were back at the field hospital.

Vicky’s head lolled against his arm as Dean pushed forward into the clinic. “Panacea!” he screamed. “Help!”

She was already coming, running towards him. “Vicky!” she cried. “Put her down!”

He laid Vicky down on a table and in seconds, Panacea’s hands were on her, yellow fear thick in the air around her. The healer grew perfectly still.

Carol Dallon came over then, seemingly healed. “Well?” she asked worriedly. “Amy?”

“She's working,” said Missy. “Give her time.”

Minutes passed at a slow crawl. Dean found he was shaking. Vicky's wounds were beginning to visibly heal, and he saw Brandish relaxing. He did not relax, because he saw what she couldn't—Amy's fear was giving way to deepest black despair--and Vicky's aura was already gone.

 _Maybe she can restart her heart,_ he thought wildly. _That’s a thing, right? Maybe it’s not too late._

But in his heart of hearts, Dean knew better.

After several minutes, the healer pulled her hand away. Slowly, Amy Dallon looked up from her sister and met Dean’s gaze. Her eyes were wet, and her aura was black as pitch.

“Thank you for trying,” she whispered.


	50. Douse 6.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Assembler, @skyrunner, @frustratedFreeboota, and ShadowStepper1300 on QuestionableQuesting for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

Carol Dallon let out a wordless, tormented howl. She threw herself upon her daughter's body, pushing Panacea aside. The healer stumbled slightly, but kept her footing. Her eyes blindly trailed over her sister and mother as the tears ran down her cheeks.

Dean staggered back. Missy caught him, supported him. His armor rattled slightly as he shook. Sobs escaped from under his helmet, quiet and painful, and Missy wrapped her arms around him as best she could.

But my eyes were drawn to Panacea. She was still standing, had made no sound. Her lips were trembling, but were pressed firmly together. She reminded me of nothing so much as a pillar of iridescent crystal, cracking under a terrible weight, but not broken. Not yet.

“ _Why weren't you faster?_ ” Carol roared, her head snapping up, red eyes glaring at Gallant. “You could have saved her! You _should_ have saved her!”

“Leave him alone!” Missy growled, her face twisting into a snarl. “We did the best we could!”

“Your best _wasn't good enough!_ ” Carol's face remained fixed in an angry rictus for only a moment more, and then she seemed to crumple. She fell back down, burying her face in her daughter's bloodied chest.

Panacea approached, then, and touched Vicky's cheek. She trailed a hand along her face, ran a finger across her lips, reddened and damp with blood. She didn’t say a word, even as the tears flowed from her eyes, but her other hand tightened into a fist.

Carol looked up again and roughly shoved Panacea aside. “Don't touch her!” she hissed. “You should have been able to heal her! That's your _job_ , isn't it?”

Panacea shuddered. “I can't heal everything.” Her voice was soft and low, but steady, with only the faintest hint of a quaver. Underneath, though, I could practically hear the cracks spreading.

“You let her die!” Carol screeched, a wildness in her eyes as she pushed herself upright, facing her surviving daughter. “You've always been jealous of her! You _let_ her die, because that's just who you are! Your father's daughter! Spiteful, vengeful—”

The pillar creaked under its burden.

Panacea _moved_. The hand gently caressing Vicky's skin remained, but the other snapped out and held Carol's chin. There was an unspoken menace in that touch.

Panacea’s voice was quiet, yet hard as diamond. Her eyes did not stray from her sister as she spoke. “Think hard about what you say next.”

“You never loved her,” growled Brandish. “Not like I did.”

In the ensuing silence, I heard the tinkling shards of a heart shattering.

“No,” said Panacea, her voice perfectly steady. “Not like you.”

Brandish dropped like a stone, unconscious. Panacea let her fall and leaned over Vicky.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, and gently kissed her sister's bloodied lips. She lingered for a few moments before pulling away. Then she stood straight and left the building without a backward glance.

“Amy!” Dean's voice was rough. “Come back!”

She ignored him. Without stopping, she turned and walked up the sidewalk, away from the ongoing battle with Leviathan, away from the hospital.

“Stop,” I said, as Dean made to follow her. He turned to look at me.

“She's going to get herself killed!”

I shook my head, pulling away from the patient I’d been healing—he was stable, at least. “She won't.”

“How can you know that?”

“She won't give Leviathan the satisfaction. If she kills herself, it'll be later.” I pulled out the Jewelry Box and whispered into the lock. “ _Edro a adlenc_.” Nenya glimmered inside, bright and silver, and my eyes were drawn to it for a moment before I reached for the Red Ring instead.

“We kind of _need_ her here, though.” That was Othala's voice, dry and terse, as she glanced over at us from another patient. “I get it, it sucks that her sister died, but—”

“You have no idea what you just saw,” I said, cutting her off. I took off Vilya and withdrew Narya from the Box. “You lack perspective.”

“Fuck you!” the Empire healer said, voice sharp and angry. “I’ve lost family, too! You don't—”

“You're not Panacea, and your family wasn't Glory Girl.” Narya went onto my finger and I let out a breath at the rush of fire in my blood. The Jewelry Box closed. “You just saw the unbreakable _shatter_. Have some respect.”

The armband, at last, kicked in again. _Losses are as follows: Fog, Glory Girl, Bambina, Humble, Uglymug, Buckler, Dauntless. Injuries are as follows: Ballistic, Leet, Über, Stardust, Triumph, Iron Falcon, Flechette, Mister Eminent, Cloister, Brandish, Hallow, Circus, Oaf, Narwhal, Tattletale, Zigzag, Escutcheon, Velocity, Myrddin._

As the droning voice continued, I crossed to Dean and put one gauntleted hand on his shoulder. “There will be time to mourn,” I promised him. “There will be a time for tears and grieving. But it's not now.”

He looked up at me. His shivering, which had been slowing over the past several minutes, at last stopped completely. “Okay,” he said. “What's the plan?”

 _What_ is _the plan?_ I wondered, glancing around at the hospital. Leviathan’s presence was palpable, here. It hung on the thoughts and feelings of both the injured and the healers. It was in the scent of blood and vomit, and in the sound of pained groans. It was in the sight of red wounds and pale faces.

I didn’t know what to do, not really. But I knew I had to do _something_. In that moment, I knew that I was willing to die if it meant getting that monster out of my city.

**_My_ ** _city. Not Leviathan’s. **Mine**._

And I had just the people to reclaim it.

“Leviathan is stronger than a hundred or so capes,” I said at last. “So we stop fighting him as capes.”

“What’s that mean?” Vista asked.

“It means that we fight him as Ring-Bearers.” I stepped outside the field hospital, raised my left hand, and unleashed Narya. Red light burst forth like a beacon, lancing up into the stormy sky above in a thin beam.

Hope poured forth from me like a wave, crashing over one cape after another, rippling through the city. Pale faces regained color, grips tightened around weapons, quaking limbs grew steady.

And, with Narya emboldening me as it did the others, with my cheeks rosy with the rush of heat and power, I drew Narsil. The sword shone nearly as bright as the Ring did in the cold, gray morning. Red was the light of the sun in the blade; cold was the light of the moon.

“ _RING-BEARERS!_ ” My voice echoed through the raging streets, louder than the thunder and heavier than the rain. “ _TO ME, RING-BEARERS! TO ME!_ ”

And the Ring-Bearers came. Gallant and Vista came and stood at my left. Sophia burst from the shadows to my right. Kid Win and Aegis arrived together, floating above us. Browbeat had a lamppost in his hand when he joined us. Clockblocker was the last to arrive, nursing a bloody crack in the armor of his side.

Eight Rings of Power shone like seven planets orbiting a star. Dawn and Dusk mingled with radiant Jewel and unyielding Stone. Sun and Moon and Earth glimmered in gold and silver, and verdant green.

And Narya, the red star, the war star, shone brightest of all.

I turned to face my Seven. My eyes roved over their hard faces and bright eyes, their squared shoulders and clenched fists. And I spoke.

“No man,” I said, “no woman, no human or parahuman, can fight this thing and hope to win. Leviathan is to them what they are to cockroaches. The best that mortal men can do against something like this is to scuttle into holes in the ground and pray it does not find them.”

Leviathan was getting closer. I could feel its light bearing down from behind me, even through the back of my head, as it glowed bright and terrible.

“It is the fear that lurks in the depths. It is the monster in the dark water. It is the sea serpent, the megalodon, the kraken. It is terror.”

Not one of the Ring-Bearers wavered.

“It is fortunate, then,” I said, “that you are not mortal. Not anymore. You are Bearers of Rings of Power! You are the Seven! You are unwavering stars in the night sky, the light that no shadow can touch!”

I turned and raised Narsil as Leviathan rounded a corner. My eyes sought the light of that thing, deep within its chest.

“You are as the rising sun!” I roared. “And together, we will beat back the night! Together, we can hold back the sea! Fear neither death nor darkness, for they have no hold on you!”

Leviathan tensed like a coiled spring.

“ _FORWARD, RING-BEARERS!_ ” I leapt into the storm, and the Seven followed. Leviathan met us halfway, and we engaged it with blade and bolt and fist.

Browbeat dealt it a devastating blow across the side of the head which knocked it slightly off course as it dove for me. I stepped aside and raked Narsil into its flank as it passed. The blade clove through its thick hide unquelled. Shadow Stalker fired bolts into the cut which only solidified when they were deep into the monster's body.

Clockblocker slowed time around us, and I watched as Aegis dove and grappled the monster's head at a snail's pace, twisting, trying to wrench it off of the shoulders. Vista lengthened the distance around us in all directions, hemming the monster in by hundreds of yards of stretched space. Kid Win fired lasers at its eyes in a flurry of light and color. Gallant launched a concentrated beam of despair directly into the center of its chest.

For a fraction of an instant, it looked as though we had succeeded. Leviathan reared, flailing, as blood spattered from the gaping wound in its side. Aegis pulled its head sideways, stretching the thick muscles of its shoulder farther than they seemed intended to stretch. Clockblocker was coming forward to attempt to freeze the thing in time.

Then he collapsed suddenly, like a puppet with its strings cut. Aegis was blasted away as the monster's water echo surged, without any accompanying motion from Leviathan itself. The water pushed out from the Endbringer's skin, throwing my teammate aloft. One of Leviathan's claws came up and grabbed at Kid Win, forcing him to withdraw almost twenty feet to avoid being caught. Both the Endbringer's own tail and its water echo whipped up and struck Vista in the side, sending her sprawling.

At last, it backhanded me, moving faster than I could dodge, and sent me careening into a building where I cracked the stone as I struck. Shadow Stalker barely avoided being crushed, herself, by phasing into shadow at the last moment.

Then the monster turned and fled, water echo following. It dashed through Vista's stretched no-man's-land in under a second and was gone back into the streets.

“After it!” I hollered. “Don't let it get—”

I saw a flash of yellow out of the corner of my eye, and I looked to my Wards’ armbands. Their screens were ringed by yellow, with indicators pointing in Leviathan’s direction. As I glanced to look, I saw what the indicator meant.

The wall of water bearing down on us had to be fifty feet high. It swallowed up building after building in its gluttony, and kept rushing forward. Someone was screaming, “TIDAL WAVE!” Someone else yelled “BARRIERS!” and I saw light flashing behind me as shields surrounded the field hospital.

I had no time to speak, to shout, to call out encouragement. I barely had time to take a deep breath myself before I was swallowed up by the dark green water, and swept away down sunken streets by the rush.

The water buffeted us in different directions. I saw the Seven go flying down other streets and alleys and out of my sight. The salt water stung and burned my eyes, and stones rung my armor like a bell as buildings crumbled around me.

I flailed wildly, and eventually found purchase on a building's fire escape. I caught the metal railing and held myself there, trailing along with the rushing water like a flag caught in a breeze. At length the water level dropped and I emerged, gasping and spluttering, hanging from the iron bars by one hand.

As the water fell away, the armband spoke up again. _Heavy casualties, please wait._

Now that I could see again, I took the opportunity to take stock. I was two stories up, hanging over open air. Capes were recovering around me. I could see a cape I didn't know on the roof above me, swathed in white bandages like a mummy. He was on his hands and knees, coughing up water from the hole for his mouth. Directly below me was a heavy-set man in a costume like a cowboy or a bandit, with a bandana covering the lower part of his face. He sat with his back to the wall, his chest visibly rising and falling as he breathed heavily.

And down the street, already standing up, was a familiar figure in blue power armor.

I dropped, catching myself lightly on the street, and jogged over. “Armsmaster!” I called. “Do you know where anyone is?”

“Not yet,” he replied, turning to me. “Do you?”

I glanced over to my right where Leviathan's star still lingered, incandescent. “Leviathan's over there,” I said, pointing. “But other than that, no.”

“You can sense him?”

“Yes.” I shrugged. “I see a glowing _thing_ in the center of its chest, like its heart, and I can see it through walls.”

He studied me, a frown on his lips. “And can your Ring-Bearers see this, too?”

“I don't know,” I admitted. “I think, maybe? A Ring of Power allows insight into the Unseen. So, probably, at least when they're using their Rings. Why?”

Armsmaster didn't answer for a moment. Then, when he spoke, his voice was grim, but confident. “All right. I'll be needing one then.”

“What?”

“A Ring. Just for the fight. I’ll need a way to keep track of him. I should be able to kill him with the countermeasures I’ve prepared.” He turned to me. “I can take Fire—Narya, right?—and you can use Water. Sound good?”


	51. Douse 6.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Assembler, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, and ShadowStepper1300 on QuestionableQuesting for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

I stared at Armsmaster blankly.

After a moment, he frowned. “Annatar?”

“You’re joking, right?” Even as I said it, I felt the sinking feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. Armsmaster didn’t joke, and I knew it perfectly well.

“Not at all,” he said, surprised. “I realize they’re addictive, but I’m willing to deal with a little withdrawal if it means saving the city.”

“A _little withdrawal_?” I spluttered.

We were interrupted by the armbands.

_Losses are as follows: Cache, Menja, Vantage, Snaptrap, Stardust, Impel. Injuries are as follows: Vista, Purity, Pelter, Browbeat, Krieg, Chevalier, Geomancer, Kid Win, Laserdream, Victor, Prefab, Shelter, Gully, Tecton, Trickster._

Armsmaster listened, his jaw working grimly as the droning continued. Once it subsided, he looked back at me. “Look, as long as it won’t kill me until after the fight—”

“Oh, a Ring of Power wouldn’t kill you,” I said. My voice was low, now, and cold. “No, you’d survive. More’s the pity. There are fates far worse than death.”

“Now isn’t the time for dramatics—”

“Dramatics?” I asked flatly. “That’s what you think this is? That’s what you think _I_ am? Playacting at significance, pretending to be something I’m not? Trying to lend importance to things that have none?”

“I realize—”

“No. You don’t.”

“ _Listen_ to what I have to say!” he growled through gritted teeth.

“You ‘realize’ that my powers feel like the most important thing in my life. You ‘realize’ there’s an instinct to make sure everyone respects how powerful and dangerous those powers are. You ‘realize’ it’s not a matter of arrogance, but of safety. And you want to make sure that I ‘realize’ everyone else feels that way about their powers, too, and that I should try to respect that, and them. That you’re a much more experienced tinker, and that I should trust your judgement on what tinkertech is and isn’t safe for you to use.”

His mouth was just slightly open. For a moment he struggled with himself, and then he spoke. “Well—yes. I know your tinkertech is a double-edged sword, Annatar. I know it’s a great risk to use it like this, without precautions. But the alternative is losing the city. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. After all, I’m the only one who’ll be hurt by it.”

I shook my head. “But you’re not. Not even close.”

He sighed. “Yes, the loss of my presence will be a blow to the Protectorate—”

“Your team will miss you,” I said. “ _Dragon_ will miss you. But more to the point, _you won’t die_. And the damage you could do, having failed to die, is far more than you can imagine.”

His lips twisted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I made no response, because it would have been drowned out. A great, bellowing roar was emerging from the east, where I saw Leviathan’s piercing light darting hither and thither. Over the tops of the damaged buildings, jets of flame were leaping into the sky like fireworks peeking over the top of a hill.

 _Lung has engaged Leviathan,_ said the armband. _Caution is advised in the surrounding area._

I started running, pushing my way through the thigh-high water towards the fight.

Armsmaster followed. “I wouldn’t ask if the stakes weren’t—”

“You think you’re fit to use the Ring of Fire?” I snapped, and the named Ring flared hot upon my finger. “You want it—not the Ring so much as what the Ring can _offer_ you. The secret fire of justice, of creativity, of inspiration and the ability to inspire. It’s everything you want to be. You really think you’d be able to give it up after the fight?”

“Yes!” Armsmaster said angrily. “I’m not a thief, Annatar!”

“Then don’t ask me to make one of you.”

We turned a corner, and immediately had to dodge a lance of flame.

Lung had grown until he was only slightly smaller than Leviathan, twenty-five feet or so tall. His arms had become claws tipped with foot-long blades, and a second pair were slowly emerging from his torso. From his back sprouted two batlike wings, with membranes the color of blood and metallic plating over the bony portion where they extended from his back.  Below these, too, another pair of wings were visible as sharp nubs emerging from under the glinting scales. His mask had long since been lost, and his face was wide and flat, like a cat’s—but instead of a distinct nose and mouth, he had an X-shaped opening at the fore of his muzzle, with four separate jaws lined with knifelike teeth and parted in a roar of defiant fury.

It was interesting to be on the same side as him, only a few short weeks after killing his subordinate.

He and Leviathan were locked together, furiously clawing at one another like rabid dogs. The dragon had one of the Endbringer’s forearms locked in a vicelike grip while his other tore into its back, and the emerging third and fourth arms clawed at its belly. His segmented maw was biting ravenously at its mouthless face, breaking through the tough hide and sending ichor spouting like red oil.

But he was bleeding, too. Leviathan matched him blow for blow, rending him with its claws and battering him with its tail and its water echo.

Even from here, a couple hundred yards away, I could feel the heat as Lung scorched his foe with dragon-fire. Despite the cold rain and flooded street, I found myself growing uncomfortably warm under my armor. The buildings on either side of the battle were already aflame.

Aeglos was missing. I had dropped it when Leviathan had cast me into the sea. Had that really been only a few minutes ago? Half an hour, an hour at most? It felt like a lifetime.

“Annatar—” Armsmaster began.

“Shut up,” I said, “and fight, damn you.”

I sheathed Narsil, unslung Belthronding, and nocked an arrow. I took aim for Leviathan’s lone right eye, and fired.

At this range, and against a target moving that erratically, I was nowhere near the archer I’d need to be to hit a target that small. My arrow struck Leviathan in the neck as it surged upward and pushed down upon the dragon.

Armsmaster had left my side and was running towards the fighting, one halberd held out before him. Darts like spear-points were launching from its tip, and most were striking the Endbringer. His other hand was reaching behind his back to pull out a second, unpainted halberd.

I fired another arrow, and got it in the shoulder. A third hit its chest. Then I nocked three arrows at once and launched them into the fray, aiming for the Enbringer’s center, for that glowing thing at its core.

One struck the thing in the belly, another in the collarbone, but the third hit Lung, glancing off the scales of his side. He didn’t seem to notice.

At that moment, Leviathan twisted. Its arm writhed in Lung’s grip and broke his hold. It spun, thrusting its back into the dragon’s face. The second impact of the water echo knocked him back, making him rear up and flail like a bucking horse.

Then it jumped, coming towards me, clearing Armsmaster’s head by several feet. The leader of the Protectorate ENE quickly leapt, swinging that second halberd into the Endbringer’s belly. The flesh exploded into dust.

Leviathan was eerily silent as it curled inward in midair, approximating the fetal position, and splashed down into the water between me and Armsmaster. I put my bow away and drew Narsil, but for a moment I waited.

 _What’s going on?_ I wondered. _Did Armsmaster injure it?_

For almost a full two seconds, the battlefield was nearly still before Leviathan surged upward and leaped into the wall to my right. It crumbled around it in an explosion of dust and masonry, and the Endbringer was obscured from view. Even as it did all of this, however, its water echo was moving. What had been a mere twitch in Armsmaster’s direction for the Endbringer itself was a crushing blow on the part of its watery shadow. The blue-armored cape was thrown backward, sailing some thirty feet and landing in a heap. Blood was already seeping out from under his armor by the time he hit the ground, drowning the blue paint in red.

_Armsmaster down, DD-2._

One of Dragon’s suits was dropping towards him, so I put him out of my mind for the moment. If anyone could keep him alive, now that Panacea was out of action, it would be Dragon.

I charged instead into the cloud of dust. The Endbringer’s star was receding, traveling down towards the sea. I followed at a run, and Narya flared like a halo of fire around me.

_Spire down, DC-4. Frenetic deceased, DC-4. Furrow deceased, DC-4. Hew down, DC-4._

Capes joined me as I went, falling into step with me one by one. The Endbringer had stopped now, and was moving erratically again in combat.

_Shielder down, DC-4. Quark deceased, DC-4. Night deceased, DC-4. Kaiser down, DC-4._

Suddenly, a cape appeared in front of me. It was Strider, in blue and black. “Need a lift?” he asked, giving me a slight grin.

“In a moment,” I said, and turned to the capes behind me.

I recognized a few. There was Weld again, his metal body slightly dented in a couple places. There were Assault and Battery—the former looked mostly uninjured, but the latter was bruised and bleeding. There was Rune, three clumps of stonework orbiting her, her robes torn and tattered. And there was Grue, a long tear running down the side of his jacket. The black leather glistened with blood.

“It’s almost over!” I shouted. “Leviathan’s taken a hell of a beating! Just a bit more, and we’ll have our city back! So be _careful_ , and we can do this without losing anyone else! The Endbringers win, some days, but today is _not_ one of them!”

I nodded to Strider as the capes cheered. Narya grew warm on my finger, fanning their hope and determination, and feeding on it in turn. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He nodded, and a moment later I was swallowed up again by the thunderclap of his teleport.

When I recovered my bearings, I found myself a touch awestruck. Eidolon, Alexandria, and Legend were there, assembled in midair. Their backs were to the sea, and their faces were to the Endbringer.

All four were perfectly still, watching each other. Eidolon’s robes and Alexandria’s cape flapped slightly in the seabreeze.

“It’s over, monster,” said Eidolon. I was struck by how ordinary his voice was. There was none of Alexandria’s cloaked menace or Legend’s raw charisma. Eidolon’s voice was a little weak, slightly too high, a touch nasal. It echoed oddly, as though spoken from the center of an empty ballroom, but that just highlighted its flaws—minute as they were individually, they became glaring and even obnoxious in a person of Eidolon’s stature and position. “You’re finished.”

Leviathan was still bleeding. Thick fluid poured from the gash in its belly, which was visibly knitting itself together. Even now, however, it made no noise, nor moved to react to its injuries. It simply stood watching.

 _It’s delaying,_ I realized. _It’s holding out for another tidal wave._

We were running out of time, and no one wanted to be the first in to attack. Even the Triumvirate were afraid. They needed someone to take the plunge.

 _We can finish this without losing anyone else,_ I’d said. I wished I could believe it.

“Bah,” I muttered. A couple capes glanced at me, their rapture broken by the sudden sound. “Who wants to live forever, anyway?”

I hefted Narsil, took a deep breath, and charged, screaming at the top of my lungs.

Something like fifty gazes snapped to me—among them, Leviathan’s. It lunged, and I swung Narsil to catch it, dodging out of the way as I did so.

It caught me with the tip of its water echo, sending me staggering, but I kept my footing. In exchange, I raked Narsil down its forearm. Blood poured forth like thick syrup.

Then at last the other capes joined me, shouting in unison, surging with hope and determination. Eidolon was launching forth strange attacks—gravity seemed to turn against Leviathan, and lend weight to the blows of those capes fighting it in melee. Legend was blasting at it with beams of blue-white light, quick and unerring. Alexandria was in the air, hammering away at its head with fists like speeding trains. And there were others, some thirty or forty of us, in the air or about its feet, ants trying to bring down an elephant.

 _And,_ I reflected as I thrust Narsil deep into one foot, _we’re succeeding._

We really were. After only a few seconds of this, Leviathan burst out from us, flicked one last blow at Legend with its water echo, and dove unceremoniously into the sea. Eidolon and Alexandria floated out after him, Legend catching up as soon as he recovered, while the rest of us picked ourselves back up.

The Triumvirate soon returned, however. “He’s gone!” said Legend, loud and clear. “He’s already heading out of the bay! Leviathan is gone!”

Even as he spoke, the storm was abating. In the east, the blackness of the storm clouds was beginning to come apart. A faint glimmer of sunlight peered in through cracks in the thunderhead.

A ragged cheer began to rise, but I didn’t join in. I just watched as the eastern sky cleared, far faster than any natural weather. The morning sun danced on my armor, setting the street around me aglow.

 _Well,_ I thought. _That’s all right, then._ I looked down at the reflected dawn in Narsil’s blade, and I found that I was smiling.


	52. Douse 6.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, and ShadowStepper1300 on QuestionableQuesting for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

“Aegis!” I called. “Shadow Stalker! Clockblocker!”

I was being pulled along by a current of bodies as capes pushed their way back up the still-flooded streets. ‘Regroup at the field hospital _,_ ’ Legend had said, and so we went. There, I expected, Strider would be taking the out-of-town capes back home in groups.

None of that mattered much to me. I just wanted to find my friends.

“Gallant!” I shouted over the throng. “Vista! Browbeat! Kid Win!”

Where were they? I’d heard the armband—Vista, Browbeat, and Kid Win had been injured, but none of them had died. I scanned the crowd as best I could, but to no avail.

A voice emerged from behind me. “You can’t find your team either?”

I turned. It was Rune. She’d abandoned her floating masonry, though I had no doubt she had only done so because she knew she could find more rubble at a moment’s notice.

I nodded. “You’re looking for the rest of Empire?”

Her mouth, uncovered by the fabric mask over her eyes and nose, twisted into a grimace. “Those of us who are still alive. I’ve been keeping count. Five of us died today.”

I winced in sympathy. “I’m sorry. Friends?”

“Not really.” She shook her head. “It’s just a mess. We’re going to have to recruit.”

I hesitated. “I’d wish you luck, but…”

“Yeah, I get it.” She sighed. “Still, we’re allies today, right? Or is the truce already over?”

“I’m certainly not going to start anything.”

She chuckled. “Cool. I’d hate to fight you.”

Before I could reply, I heard a more familiar voice from above. “Annatar!”

I looked up at Aegis, floating there. One of his legs was little more than torn ribbons of flesh, but it was slowly knitting itself back together.

“Sorry, can’t walk right now,” he said, gesturing to his injury. “The others are at the field hospital. Kid Win’s hurt pretty bad, but he’ll be all right.”

“And everyone else?”

“They’re all better off than he is. Everyone’s conscious.”

“Good.” I sighed in relief. “Can I get a lift?”

“Sure.” He reached down with one hand, which I took. I gave Rune a farewell wave with the other hand as I rose into the air, which she returned.

“Rune?” Aegis asked as we flew towards the crumbling building. “Really?”

“ _She_ approached _me_ ,” I protested. “When I was planning my day this morning, winning the respect of Neo-Nazis wasn’t really on the agenda.”

He chuckled. “Nor was Leviathan, I’ll bet.”

“Fair point.” I sighed again. “A lot of people died today, Aegis.”

“Yeah. Could have been us.”

“For some of us, it _was_.” I thought of Dean, shuddering in his armor as he stood over his girlfriend’s body.

Aegis didn’t reply.

We soon alighted near the door of the field hospital. The crowd parted. I saw upturned faces, and ten or more pairs of eyes trained on me. Aegis let me down slowly on the asphalt, where my mithril boots landed with little more than a faint click.

The crowd parted to allow me entry. I glanced around as soon as I was inside. Several capes were bustling around, erecting partitions, screens, and curtains to allow the capes being treated some measure of privacy. Some were being placed on stretchers and carried out through one of the building’s two exits, or through the hole in one wall.

Aegis floated into the building behind me. “Last I checked, they’d put us up in the back. Follow me.”

I stepped aside, to allow him to pass, and followed. Healers and medics moved out of our way. I saw their gazes dart to my face and then away, as if in nerves or fear.

It wasn’t long before Aegis was pushing aside a curtain, holding it open for me.

“Annatar!” It was Sophia, and I could hear the smile under her mask. “You’re all right.”

I gave her a brief nod.  “I am.”

I scanned the room. Sophia and Dennis were both unhurt. Missy was sitting up on a bed, her back to the wall. Her right arm was in a cast. Sam was holding a bloodstained cloth to his side—through a gap in his torn costume, I saw the scarring of a closing wound. Dean was sitting with his arms around his middle, looking down at his own knees.

Chris was worse off. His armor had crumpled from an impact in his middle, and blood had leaked out around it. Nonetheless, he gave me a pained wave.

“Can you speak?” I asked him.

He shook his head jerkily.

“It hurts him to talk,” explained Missy. “We don’t think his lungs were punctured, but he has a couple of broken ribs.”

I nodded. “But he’ll be okay?”

“Should be,” said Dennis. “As soon as they get the shelters open and we get some real doctors in here, or some healers who aren’t Nazis or are actually useful.”

“I heard that.” I turned to see a young man in a white robe with golden trim. His mask was white, and stylized in the shape of a goat’s head.

“No offence meant,” Dennis said, chagrined.

“None taken,” said the guy, a smirk in his voice as he approached the beds. “I hate my power too. Works well with your Othala, though.”

“She’s not _our_ Othala,” Sophia growled.

“You know what I mean.” He looked down at Missy. “You doing any better?”

“Arm’s still broken,” she said. “Still not going to up and die. Just like last time you were in here.”

“All right, all right, I get it,” he said, backing off. “I just—”

“You just wanted to catch a glimpse of our celebrity,” Missy interrupted. “It’s fine, but come on. She’s _right there_. Ask for an autograph if you want.”

He glanced up at me, then looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I could practically hear the eyes of my teammates rolling. I opened my mouth to speak. “I—”

“I’ve gotta go take care of other people,” he said hurriedly, backing out of the room. “Let me know if anything gets worse.”

And he was gone. I looked bewilderedly between my teammates. “Someone want to explain that to me?”

“You led us as we faced down an Endbringer alone right outside the field hospital,” said Dennis. “It, uh, left an impression on a couple people.”

Missy laughed. “An impression is right. Didn’t some guy ask you if she was single, Aegis?”

“Yeah. Some out-of-town Ward.” He grinned at me. “You’re _famous_ , Annatar. How does it feel?”

I was blinking. “But—we _all_ faced him down.”

“You were the one giving the inspiring speech. I hear you did it again, too, right at the end.”

“That was just Narya,” I protested. “Well, me _with_ Narya.”

“Well, it worked.” Carlos shook his head. “Look, Annatar, the eight of us faced down an Endbringer by ourselves, and _all of us are still standing_. That does not happen.”

I shuddered. “God, that was stupid of me, wasn’t it?”

“No.” That was Sophia. She sounded a bit subdued, but determined. She was looking over at Dean. “No, you were right. We’re Ring-Bearers. We can hold back the sea.”

“You’re not invincible,” I said immediately. “I don’t want any of us getting killed because we got cocky.”

“I know,” said Sophia, shaking her head. “It’s not like that. It’s…” She looked up and met my eyes. The holes in her mask were deep and dark. “We’re heroes, now,” she said slowly, “in the classical sense. Right?”

“What do you mean?” Missy asked.

“Yes,” I told Sophia. “Exactly. We’re _more_ than human. We’re the kind of people who can fight as well as ten or even _fifty_ of our peers, and we’re that much harder to kill. But we’re _not_ invincible.”

“Heroes never are,” said Sophia quietly. “They just have important deaths.”

I remembered seeing _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_ on her bookshelf, and her telling me that she was reading _King Lear_.

“Yes,” I agreed. “They do have that.”

Just then, the curtain was once more pulled aside. I turned.

“Ah, Annatar, you’re here,” said Miss Militia. She looked harried—her hair was unkempt, and her flag bandana was a little crooked. “You’re all right?”

“Yes,” I said, then frowned. “How is everyone? Besides—”

“Dauntless is gone,” she said grimly. “There’ll be time to mourn later. I’m just glad we didn’t lose more, and that none of you were killed.”

“And injuries?” Carlos asked. “Is everyone going to be fixed up soon?”

“For the most part,” she sighed. “Triumph and Velocity were both injured, but Scapegoat and Othala should have them back on their feet before too long. I was worse off, but they healed me about when the fight ended.”

“And Armsmaster?” That was Dennis.

I remembered Leviathan’s blow to the tinker, and Dragon swooping down to pluck him up.

Miss Militia’s brow was furrowed, and her eyes were grim. “He was hurt far worse. Dragon transported him inland to the nearest open ICU. He’s being treated now, and she tells me his prognosis is good—but without Panacea here, he wouldn’t stand much of a chance if she hadn’t taken him for surgery.”

“But he should be okay?”

“If nothing goes wrong with the surgery. In the interim, I’m taking command of the Protectorate ENE.” She considered me. “Everything I said before the fight still holds, Annatar. I’m willing to put our differences behind us.”

I nodded. “Of course. We’ll need to work together to rebuild the city.”

She smiled, her bandana shifting. “I look forward to it.”

“What about Grue?” Sophia asked suddenly. “And Über, and Leet? We let them all out to fight; where did they go?”

The adult hero’s face fell. “We’ve lost track of them. Über and Leet were seen heading downtown. I expect they plan to leave the city. No one’s seen Grue since the last tidal wave. I was planning on talking to Faultline—Tattletale used to be a member of his team, so she might be able to help.”

“Able, yeah,” said Sam. “But what’ll be her price?”

“That is the important question, yes.” Miss Militia shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Even if all three of them escape, they can’t get far, and we have their identities as leverage, if they attempt to escalate. That’s unimportant for now. Annatar, would you be willing to assist in healing?”

“I heal people slowly,” I said, “but yeah, of course.” I stood up. “There’s something I have to do first, though. Gallant!”

Dean looked up.

“Come on,” I said, holding out a hand. “We’re going to go talk to New Wave.”

“I’ll come too,” said Dennis hurriedly. Aegis chuckled.

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Laserdream smiled at Dennis the moment we came into New Wave’s little corner of the hospital. “Hey there, big guy,” she said. “Come to take advantage of me while I’m down?”

Both her legs were swathed in bandages and raised by pulleys. One of her hands was drumming an idle rhythm on her sheets, and there was a glazed look to her eyes.

“Ew,” said Shielder, shuddering in his seat beside her. “Please don’t take her up on that,” he begged Dennis. “She’s on a _lot_ of painkillers.”

“Don’t worry,” Dennis told him, but his eyes were fixed on Laserdream. “Didn’t even think of it.”

Both he and Dean drifted away. Dennis made for Laserdream’s bedside, and Dean walked towards the two beds on the other side of the room.

Vicky had been cleaned up somewhat, although that might have just been the tidal wave. Her pale, still face didn’t look all that different from her mother’s. They lay there, side by side, both perfectly still with closed eyes.

On one side of the bed, Manpower had an arm around Flashbang’s shoulders. The last remaining Dallon looked destroyed. His shoulders were slumped and his face was stained with the tears that poured steadily and soundlessly down his cheeks.

“Annatar,” said Lady Photon from a chair in the corner. She was smiling slightly at me. “Thank you for bringing them.”

I nodded. “My pleasure. Brandish hasn’t woken up?”

“No,” she said, her lips pursed. “We don’t have any idea what Panacea did to her, but it’s beginning to look like she’s the only one who can undo it. Unless you could?”

“No. Not without knowing what it was.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”

Lady Photon sighed. “No, I understand. I just hope Amy comes back soon. We need her—not for her powers, but just—”

“I know,” I said. “Don’t worry, she will.”

She blinked at me. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m going to go find her now. I’ll be back in an hour or so, I expect.” Without another word, I turned to leave.


	53. Douse 6.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Assembler, @frustratedFreeboota, and @skyrunner for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

Wards were discouraged from patrolling alone in the dangerous parts of town. As a rule, we tended to travel in pairs. I had not done much patrolling in my brief stint as a Ward—and even then, I had almost always been accompanied by one of the others.

Today, I walked the streets alone.

The crowd of capes had dispersed, and the waterlogged city was deserted. The shelters were still being opened, and the all-clear had yet to be sent out. Every so often, I passed a civilian or family scuttling towards some ruined home to see what could be salvaged, but for the most part people were avoiding the Docks.

The pavement grew less stable as I walked down the long slope towards the shore. Cracks ran ever deeper, and the even surface was marred by pits and jutting protrusions. Rubble was scattered along the sides of the streets, and in several places alleys had caved in entirely. Leviathan’s passage had been keenly felt, here.

I enjoyed the solitude. There would be time to comfort Dean through his survivor’s guilt and crushing grief. There would be time to help Missy come to terms with her horribly mixed feelings over Vicky’s death. There would be time to help Chris and Sam deal with their nerves, their understandable fear at being thrust into the limelight. There would be time to support Aegis as he took up the task of representing the Wards to the world.

But not now. Not yet. There was more to do first.

I was startled by how calm the sea looked, once I had reached it. The midmorning sun shone merrily over the temperate waves, lapping gently against the ruined shore. Only the faintest wisps of cloud remained to tell of the storm which had blocked out the sky mere hours ago.

I rested a hand on Narsil’s hilt and looked out for a moment, allowing the sea-breeze to gently run through my hair and kiss my lower face. Then I turned and began walking along the shoreline, heading north, toward the ruined boardwalk.

The fractured mess of timber had mingled with the rubble from the surrounding buildings, until what remained of the heart of Brockton Bay’s stunted tourism industry was barely worth calling a ruin. I picked my way through narrow paths, surrounded by sharp splinters and shattered concrete slabs.

I was not the only one who had lost trinkets today. Broken watches, twisted pieces of jewelry, and other oddities mingled with the rest of the debris—relics, I expected, of the storefronts that had lined the boardwalk, or of the apartments atop those establishments.

At long last, I found what I had come for. Aeglos was upright, its tip embedded sharply into a piece of stone. The burnished wooden haft pointed into the air like a monument, catching the eye even among the forest of jagged timbers.

I took it in both hands, bent my knees slightly, and pulled up. The spear came free with only token resistance.

I swung it in my hands a few times, testing the weight in cuts and thrusts. Unchanged. Aeglos emerged from the battle from Leviathan as flawless as the day I’d forged it.

For a moment I considered the blue blade at the end of the spear. A faint coating of frost lingered on it, like skeletal fingers stretching across the metal.

 _“Aeglos_ ,” I murmured. I was on the cusp of something, I could feel it. “No icicle could have held back the sea undamaged. You are no _icicle_.”

And, with the insight of a composer realizing his next melody, I understood.

“ _Iphannis_ , I name you,” I said, and the blade shone brightest blue. “ _Permafrost_. May you be ever as unyielding as you were today.”

The sun was warm, and beat down pleasantly upon my armor—but as Iphannis grew ice-cold in my fingertips, it was all I could do to suppress a shiver.

* * *

 

My solitude was broken when I left the boardwalk. As I emerged from between the shattered woodwork, I saw a speck high above. It sped towards me like a falling star. As it drew closer, it took on form: that of a man wearing a blue and white costume.

“Annatar,” said Legend.

“Sir,” I said with a cordial nod. “You need something?”

“First of all,” he said with a slight smile, “it’s just Legend, please.”

“All right, Legend,” I said, though it was no large change. A name like that, with the weight it carried, was little better than a title.

“Your team is looking for you. Clockblocker said you disappeared from the hospital. They’re out looking for you.”

“I told Lady Photon I’d be back,” I said.

He nodded. “Yes, but you’re also alone in a city that’ll very soon be in chaos. Your team is worried.”

“And that warrants the leader of the Protectorate paying me a personal visit?”

He chuckled. “Well—no. Not really. I wanted to talk to you.”

I set Iphannis against a crumbling wall and clasped my hands behind my back. “All right. What is it?”

“Your team faced Leviathan alone today,” he said. He lowered until his feet touched the ground, so that he was now only a few inches above me, rather than a few feet. “The eight of you held him long enough for Strider to get Bastion and some of his group to the hospital, to protect them from the tidal wave. You were a part of that.”

“Well, I’m part of the team.”

“You know what I mean.”

I nodded. “It’s an open secret at this point,” I said. “I give out Rings of Power. My team has a set.”

“Can you tell me about them?” he asked.

I found myself smiling. “I could,” I said, “but it depends on what you want to know.”

“What can they do?”

“It depends on who’s wearing them. Parahumans get their powers enhanced, but even a normal human would get several benefits. Strength, speed, senses, the works.”

“There has to be more than that, though.” Legend was shaking his head. “You eight faced down _Leviathan_. And you were key in getting the other capes motivated, keeping their heads in the fight—don’t think I didn’t notice. A boost to strength and speed wouldn’t do that.”

“No,” I agreed. “It’s a lot more complex than that. I’m afraid I don’t know how to put it into words, though. Charisma is part of it. We Ring-Bearers tend to be able to express ourselves and win over others better than we otherwise would. But there’s much more to it.”

“And you don’t know how to explain it?”

“Not in general.” I shook my head. “If you asked me to tell you about a specific Ring-Bearer, I could tell you what _their_ Ring did for _them_ , but that wouldn’t help you much in predicting what it, or any other Ring of Power, would do for someone else.”

He nodded. “I understand. They’re a bit like powers, I guess.”

“I suppose so.”

He considered me for a moment. “As I understand it, you have twenty Rings you can make?”

“Yes,” I said. “Although I only plan to make nineteen, in the end.”

“Why?”

I hesitated. “The twentieth Ring has powers that… I’m not comfortable with.”

There was a brief silence, broken only by the shrill cries of seagulls, returning at last after being driven off by Leviathan.

“Will you answer, if I ask you what kind of powers?”

“I—” I didn’t honestly know. “I’d… _prefer_ not to.”

His lips were pursed. “If, hypothetically, you made it—would it be a threat to the Protectorate?”

I swallowed. “…Yes.”

He sighed. “I had a feeling.”

Was this it? Was I going to be captured, now? Had I overextended at last, and lost the good graces of the Protectorate, lost their protection?

“You know we won’t hold that against you, right?”

I blinked. “What?”

He grinned suddenly. “This has really been worrying you, hasn’t it?”

“Well…”

“Look,” said Legend, crossing his arms and leaning against the ruined wall. “I work with _Eidolon_ on a regular basis. I know that, if he wanted to, he could probably kill half the capes in this _country_ without breaking a sweat. That doesn’t stop me from working with him. I even consider him a friend.”

“It’s not the same.”

“No,” he agreed. “Eidolon isn’t much of a master.”

I froze.

“But it’s _close enough_ ,” the man stressed. “That’s what I want you to understand, Annatar. We’re not your enemies—no matter how scary your powers are.”

Was he just talking about Vilya? Had they figured out what I could do, if I chose? How much did they know—and how did they know it?

I said the only thing I could think of. “Thank you.”

He nodded and, probably seeing my discomfort, changed the subject. “Do you have any plans to distribute your other Rings any time soon?”

“Not the Nine, if that’s what you’re asking.” I shook my head to clear it. “I haven’t really seen a group of nine who really seemed to fit.”

“I can only think of _one_ group of nine, off the top of my head,” admitted Legend, “and I suppose I should be very glad you don’t think _they’re_ fit to get upgrades. But you’re avoiding the question. If not the other nine, what? The Wards have seven, you have your three—”

“They’re not _my_ Three,” I corrected. “They’re _the_ Three.”

He blinked at me. “Wasn’t swapping them out at will central to your combat style?”

I sighed. “Yes. But—there are other people who are _suited_ to them, in a way I’m not. I’m not going to deny that. I can’t.”

He considered me. “Who are you planning to give them to?”

“I—” I shook my head. “No. They’re an ally, I promise you that, but I don’t want to tell anyone before I talk to them. They might not accept it. I’m only planning on giving one away, for now.”

“But they’re an ally?”

“Yes. I swear. I’m sorry I’m keeping so many secrets.”

He shook his head, and for a moment I saw something dark pass across what little I could see of his face. “We all have secrets.” Then the moment was gone. “All right. Keep me posted, if you can. And you should return to your team, soon.”

“I will,” I said. “I just—I need to do this first. Can you tell them to stop worrying?”

“All right,” he repeated, his tone reminding me of my dad, “but hurry back. And be careful.”

“Of course.”

With that, he rose into the air and was gone. As soon as he had passed out of easy earshot, I pulled out the Jewelry Box and opened it with a whispered command.

Off came Narya, and on came Nenya. The Ring of Adamant was cool on my finger, and seemed to vibrate faintly in anticipation.

I sighed. “All right,” I murmured. “You’ve served me well—and long enough. It’s time you were passed to someone more fit to you.”

For what would be the last time, I brought my lips to the Ring of Water. “Okay. Show me the way.”

And, in a flash of crystalline insight, I knew where I needed to go.

With Nenya, I could have run. I didn’t. I took my time, on this last stretch with the White Ring. Together we walked up ruined streets and through flooded alleys. People had started coming out of the Endbringer shelters, now, and they stared at me as I passed. I ignored them all.

Nenya guided me downtown, past the PRT building, into the heart of the city. Many of the skyscrapers had been damaged or destroyed by Leviathan. A few of the taller ones creaked ominously, as if they might crumble at any moment.

It was to one of these that I was drawn. I took the fire escape, climbing slowly up flight after flight of iron steps. It took some time to climb the fifty floors, but I felt no fatigue—not with Nenya on my finger, here at the end of my stewardship. Here and now, for the last time, I was _unbowed_.

 _No._ Nenya might go to another bearer, but I would never forget what it had given me. Never again, perhaps, would I be able to feel the heady rush as the Ring of Water bolstered me, but I was Annatar, Ring-Maker and Gift-Giver. _Unbowed_ I would remain, now and forever.

At last I came to the last flight. Above here was the roof. My shaking fingers closed over Nenya and, for the last time, I pulled it off of my finger.

“ _Edro a adlenc,_ ” I whispered to the Jewelry Box. Out came Vilya, but Nenya did not return in its place, and never would again.

I found that my eyes were wet. I wiped at them with a cloth I’d taken to carrying—it paid to do so, when I couldn’t depend on sleeves.

Then I took a deep breath, and ascended the last flight of steps.

“Panacea,” I said. “We need to talk.”


	54. Interlude 6b: Amy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

“Panacea, we need to talk.”

Amy didn’t bother turning to look. It wasn’t that she knew who it was—she just didn’t care.

She lay spread-eagled on the roof of the Medhall building. It had always been one of Vicky’s favorite places to, as she would have put it, “swoop down from.” Amy had been up here hundreds of times, but never before had she been here alone.

There was the tapping of metal boots on concrete as the person approached. They stopped just outside of her field of view. They said nothing, but Amy knew they were watching her.

She ignored them in favor of looking up into the blue sky. There were clouds dotting it—nothing like the overcast storm of a few hours ago, but not quite clear yet.

Amy felt irrationally angry at those few clouds. Vicky had always preferred clear skies, while Amy tended to prefer days when the marine layer flowed in and the daylight was filtered and gray. The melding of the two, in the early-afternoon sky, made Amy want to scream.

There was a clinking as the person sat down next to her, their armor impacting itself like chiming bells. They remained otherwise silent.

Vicky’s heart had already stopped by the time Gallant had brought her in. Her lungs had been totally shredded, and she’d lost almost two liters of blood. Four of her thoracic and three of her lumbar vertebrae had been broken to varying degrees, from fractures to total pulverizations.

All of this, Amy could have healed, given time and equipment—of which she’d had neither. She’d been working against the clock. Vicky’s brain had already passed the threshold for permanent brain damage, and was rapidly approaching functional brain death.

Amy had tried, of course. She’d tried everything from rerouting blood manually to repairing only the respiratory system, just to keep the brain oxygenated and alive. But without a heartbeat and with a shattered ribcage, there was simply no way to make it work. Too little of the structure remained to support the rest, even with her help.

By the time Amy had realized the impossibility of her usual approaches, Vicky’s prefrontal cortex had gone out like a lightbulb burning through its filament, and it was over. All she could do then was to heal what she could of Vicky’s surface injuries, and hold her as the rest of her brain suffocated.

It wasn’t that the task had been impossible. It was that Amy had been too stupid to approach it in any way but the one she always used; and with injuries like that, the usual approach simply wasn’t enough.

“At some point,” said the person sitting next to her in a voice like a gentle breeze, “we have to accept that it’s not our fault.”

Amy twitched. “What the fuck do you know about it?” she asked, and was surprised to find that her voice was dry and hoarse. She hadn’t used it in hours.

“Some,” said the girl, “but not as much as you.”

Amy swallowed. “Then shut up,” she said, “and leave me alone.”

“You’ve been alone for quite long enough, I think.”

Amy’s head turned, striking the concrete of the roof in her haste, and she glared at the armored girl. “ _I don’t want you here,_ ” she bit out. “Go away.”

Annatar shook her head. “You don’t deserve to be alone.”

“Too fucking late,” Amy growled.

Annatar didn’t reply for a moment. She just sat there, perfectly serene, watching Amy through those dark eyes.

Then the Ward reached up to her helmet. “I want you to imagine,” she said, “that I’m a mirror.”

She pulled off the silver helmet. A thin girl with sharp eyes and wavy, black hair looked back at Amy.

“Imagine that this is your face,” she said. “What do you want to do?”

Amy stared. “You really want to know?”

“I already do,” said Annatar with a faint smile. “Go ahead.”

So Amy punched her. It felt good, so she did it again. And again, and again, and again.

She was on top of Annatar, and her fists were driving themselves, one after another, into the girl’s eyes and cheeks. She was crying, now—she could barely see her target through the blur.

It went on, until Amy found that her strength had waned, and she was doing little more than weakly flailing at the girl beneath her. When she found she could barely hold herself up, Annatar caught her and helped her back up into a sitting position.

“I’d ask if you were feeling better,” said the Ward, voice slightly tight with pain, and muffled by cut lips, “but I know better.”

Amy didn’t reply except by wiping away her tears with her sleeves. “You’re fucking weird,” she said. “You know that?”

“I’ve been told. Not in so many words, though.” Annatar was seated next to her, her hands about her knees. Together, they looked up into the foothills to the west.

“I loved her,” said Amy.

Annatar didn’t reply, but Amy knew she had her attention.

“Not like—not like I should have, I mean. Not like a sister.” Amy shuddered. “Do you know what that’s like? To _know_ you’re fucked up, to know you _want_ something that you shouldn’t, to know there’s something _not right_ in your head, and not to be able to do a damn thing about it?”

“No,” Annatar said. “Tell me, if you can.”

Amy swallowed. “I don’t know how.”

Annatar nodded. For a moment, there was silence.

“Carol Dallon,” the Ward finally said. “Who is she?”

“She took me in,” Amy said hoarsely. “Took care of me, made sure I was fed and clothed and comfortable.”

“I see.”

And Amy knew she did.

“What about Mark?”

“Clinical depression,” Amy said quietly. “Not a bad guy. Just…”

“Useless when you need him.” Annatar’s voice was low. “Not a great trait, in a father.”

“No. Not at all.”

Annatar sighed. “I’m beginning to understand.”

“I’m _alone_ ,” said Amy. “The only person to ever be there for me—the only person I’ve ever loved—is gone.” Her voice broke and before she knew it, she was burying her head in her knees again. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed.

Annatar didn’t touch her, didn’t seem to move, although Amy was sure she was watching. After what felt like an hour, Amy finally got her tears under control. She sat there in silence save for her own heavy breathing.

Only then did Annatar speak again. “Did you ever tell Vicky how you felt?”

Amy snorted. “Of course not. How the fuck would I even go about it? ‘Oh, hey, sis! By the way, I’ve had an incestuous crush on you for years!’ No way that goes well.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Annatar. “It couldn’t have made you _more_ alone, though.”

Amy glanced over at her blankly. “Uh—hello? It would’ve driven _Vicky_ away. You know, the one person who _was_ in my corner?”

“Was she?” Annatar shook her head. “She never got to _see_ your corner, Amy. You didn’t let her. Trust is intimacy; intimacy, trust. Without the one…”

She trailed off. Amy got the point. She looked away, back into the West.

“You’ve been alone a very long time, Amy,” Annatar said.

“Yeah, rub it in, why don’t you?”

“You misunderstand. People don’t survive that. It’s the kind of thing one person in a million can come out of alive.”

Amy’s lips twitched, looking over at the edge of the rooftop. “Haven’t come out yet.”

“No,” agreed Annatar. “Not yet. But you don’t understand—it took something absolutely overwhelming to break you. A lesser woman would have broken years ago.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Annatar shook her head. “I did.”

Amy blinked at her. “What?”

“My mother died in a car crash. My dad fell into depression. My only real friend turned on me, and got the entire school against me.” Annatar smiled slightly. “For eighteen months, I was as alone as you. Only eighteen months, and it ended with me breaking. For you, it’s been how many years? Three, since you triggered—and how many more before that?”

Amy looked away. The answer, of course, was ‘as long as I can remember.’

“You’re a woman like few others, Amy,” said Annatar quietly. “ _No man is an island entire of itself_ —except you.”

“I don’t feel _entire_.” Amy shook her head. “I died with Vicky there, I think.”

“So did I,” said Annatar gently, “when my mother died. Life goes on, like a lizard without its tail.”

“I don’t _want_ to go on,” Amy protested. “I don’t _want_ to keep going without Vicky. Why should I? What’s the fucking point?”

“I don’t know,” said Annatar simply. “You’ll have to find one for yourself. But you _will_ find one. I did. Shadow Stalker did—and then another, once I dismantled that one. I said _life_ goes on—not just a beating heart and breathing lungs, but _life_. This isn’t the end.”

“It _feels_ like a hell of an ending.”

“Oh, it is,” Annatar agreed. “ _An_ ending. Not _the_ end. Not yet.”

Amy chuckled. “you’re going to a lot of effort to get me to go back to healing,” she said dryly. “What, got something you can’t fix?”

“If I had my way,” said Annatar quietly, “I’d strip your powers from you and cast them into the night. They’ve done you no good, and a world of harm.”

Amy stared at her.

“No, Amy,” said Annatar. “I’m not here for your powers. I’m here for you.”

“Why?” Amy’s voice was faint.

Annatar sighed. “Because I care—and because you’re special.”

“Special? And you’re sure this _isn’t_ about my powers?”

“Absolutely sure.” Annatar held out a hand, and something glittered in it. Amy looked.

It was a ring, beautifully crafted of Annatar’s silver-white mithril and inlaid with diamonds. It seemed to glow from within rather than reflecting the daylight, and the glimmer played on Annatar’s armor and made her face look pale.

“This is Nenya,” said Annatar, and her voice actually caught on the name, as if in grief. “The Ring of Adamant. It was one of my first works, and I’ve been its steward since then—but not its keeper. Never its keeper.”

“This is one of your modules,” murmured Amy.

“Yes. A Ring of Power.” Annatar swallowed. “If you’ll accept it… it’s yours.”

“…Why?”

“Nenya is the Ring of Adamant,” said Annatar quietly. “The Ring of the Unbowed. It chose you.”

“It… chose?”

“Rings of Power aren’t mere trinkets or baubles.” Annatar smiled sadly. “They aren’t alive like you or I, but they do have minds of their own, to an extent. Nenya wants a bearer that will complement it—and that’s you, Amy.”

“But I—” Amy reached for words. “I _didn’t_ —”

“You broke,” Annatar agreed. “If you were literally _impossible_ to break, you would have no need for Nenya. It _wants_ to be needed—but it also wants to be _earned_. You’re right there, at that precipice.”

“How can you _know_?”

Annatar shrugged. “I’m the Ring-Maker,” she said, as if that explained everything. “I have an instinct for these things.”

Amy shook head. “No. No, this is crazy.” A darkly amused grin suddenly found itself on her features. “Carol always told me not to accept presents from strangers.”

“And that’s your right,” Annatar said. “If you refuse this, I’ll never bother you again. I still won’t let you jump off the roof, though.”

Amy twitched. “I wasn’t going to—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Their eyes met.

“Nenya will _help_ you, Amy,” said Annatar quietly. “To bear a Ring of Power is to be alone—and to be _able to survive that_.”

“Is this the part where you tell me Vicky wouldn’t want me to kill myself?” asked Amy dryly.

Annatar shook her head. “I didn’t know Vicky,” she said. “You did. I leave what she would have wanted to _you_. Because it’s not in _me_ that she lives on.”

Amy shuddered. “You—” she took a deep, shaky breath. “You can’t just _say_ something like that.”

Annatar didn’t speak for a moment, just looked into her eyes. Finally, she said, “I remember meeting the Dallons and Pelhams, when I came to apologize for Shielder. When Vicky activated her aura, it affected the entire group—except you.”

“I’m immune,” Amy said weakly. “I’ve built up a tolerance.”

“Then you see the implication. You’re the _only one who did_.”

_And I’m the only one who saw Vicky without her aura messing with the image. I’m the only one who remembers her as she was._

“They say,” said Annatar, “that a person, over the span of time, dies two deaths.”

“I know.” Amy’s voice shook.

“So you have a choice,” said Annatar quietly. “You can go, and be with your sister in the uncertain doom of our species, or you can remain here, and keep her alive without any of the comfort that comes with her presence. Neither is easy, I know. Neither is _good_.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t let me jump?”

“I won’t—but I’m certain that, if you’re determined, you’ll find another way.” Annatar’s face twisted. “Amy, _please_. Don’t throw decades away in your lowest moment.”

“Where the fuck do I go from here, then?” Amy asked, slumping. “Where _can_ I go? What do I even do, anymore?”

“I don’t know,” said Annatar, “but I do know that the only way to go from your lowest point is _up_.”

Amy shook her head. “The light’s been taken out of the world,” she said lowly. “I can’t get it back, Annatar.”

“No. The sun has set, and no amount of prayer or cursing will make it rise again until the world is renewed.” Annatar’s voice was low. “But why curse the darkness, when you can light a candle?”

Amy closed her eyes. “I don’t know if I can do it,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I can go on without her.”

“I know you can.” Annatar’s voice was firm. “Even without Nenya, you could. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be worthy of it.” She sighed. “Look—just _try_.”

Amy blinked at her. “Try?”

Annatar nodded. “Like I said—if you’re determined, you’ll find a way. So why not give living a try? You always have the _choice_. It’s the one choice no one can take away from you. So why make it now? Why not try, just a little longer? What could it hurt?”

“Me,” said Amy dryly. “It could hurt me.”

But she already knew what Annatar was going to say. “Can it really hurt you any worse than it already has?”

And the answer was easy. “No.”

Without another word, Amy reached for the Ring. Annatar yielded it with a faint wince, as if it hurt to let it go. “Before you put it on,” Annatar said, “you should know: from the moment you do, it will be bound to you. You will not be able to willingly give it up—not without expenditure of great effort. It will become as much a part of you as your power is.”

Amy studied the silvery band. “And it’ll make all this”—she gestured around herself—“more bearable?”

“No; but it’ll make _you_ more able to bear it.”

“Good enough for me.” Before she could have second thoughts, Amy slipped on the Ring of Power.

Something _shifted_.

Water was in her veins, running like blood—cool, pure, and unrelenting. A calm spread through her, and a tranquility. The world faded away, and she was deep, deep under the water, with light filtering down upon her in fractal patterns as the waves far above refracted and transmitted it down into the bottom of the world in thick, liquid beams. The rays of light seemed solid enough that she felt she could take hold of one and climb it, like a rope, straight to the sky.

A rushing, roaring sound, like a waterfall, burst upon her ears. Nenya curled about her finger in a gentle caress, cleansing, purifying, and fortifying.

 _Nenya, the Ring of Water_.

Her vision cleared, and Amy found she was standing, looking around in wonder. The world looked so _different_ through eyes that were enhanced by the Ring of Water. She could see, and hear, and _feel_ so much more—the swaying of trees in the faintest breeze, the sound of cawing gulls on the coast, and the minute variations in the blanket of wind which encased her.

Vicky’s death was still there, a throbbing ache in her chest, like a wound slowly scabbing over. Nenya had not touched it—and Amy knew that, if it had, she would have taken it and leapt off the roof at once with it in hand, hoping in some way to damage it with her death. But that wasn’t what the Ring of Water did.

It had no power to make her forget. All it could do was support her as she endured.

Annatar stood up. “It’s taken to you,” she said. She was smiling—openly and honestly, with only a trace of grief. “You match it well.”

Amy stared at her. Her face fell. “This isn’t over,” she said. “I’m still just _trying_.”

Annatar’s smile twisted into a wry grin. “What do you think the rest of us are doing?”

A gentle breeze came in from the West. It ruffled their hair affectionately as it passed on. Annatar looked into it, and something was in her eyes that Amy couldn’t identify.

“I’d best be going,” said the Ring-Maker.

“That’s it?” Amy asked. “No contract, no terms? Nothing in exchange?”

Annatar shook her head. “The Three aren’t under my dominion,” she said. “Your loyalties and causes are your own. That being said…” she smiled slightly. “There is a place in the Wards for you, if you want to get away from Carol.”

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that.” Amy shook her head. “I should wake her up first, though, shouldn’t I?”

“Probably, yes,” Annatar agreed. She stood aside and gestured to the fire escape.

Amy nodded, and tenuously took her first few steps into a world without Vicky.


	55. From the Journal of Annatar 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

_ Sunday, May 15 _ _ th _ _ , 2011 _

_ Nenya is gone. _

_ Is it not strange that, of all the myriad transformations my world has undergone since last the sun rose, it should be this upon which I fixate? I have met an Endbringer in battle, I have watched a hero die, I have seen the unyielding break, I have— _

_ Once again, my thoughts return to that moment. Amy—Panacea—standing over her dead sister, listening to her mother go mad with grief, powerless to do aught about either. I heard the soundless sound of shattering glass. I pray I shall never hear it again. And, if Nenya is as well matched to its bearer as it now appears, I never shall. _

_ It is difficult, I find, to force my mind away from that void in the Jewelry Box where Nenya once sat. It is difficult to set aside the fact that I shall never again feel the Ring of Adamant bracing me. Yet I must, for there are other things of which I must make sense. I must understand today, before the morrow comes. _

_ We, the Wards, stood alone against an Endbringer today. We met with no victory, but we survived. At the time, as my heart burned with righteous fury and Narya shone bright upon my finger, our survival came as no surprise. There was fear, but only so that courage could be raised above it. In that moment, I built for myself a citadel of bravery, unassailable and impenetrable, and upon its ramparts my Wards took up the defense. And though the wave did eventually scatter us, we stood against Leviathan as a levee to the sea. We held long enough for our allies to fortify the hospital, and thus saved I know not how many lives. _

_ The others are entirely correct when they tell me this is not ordinary. Indeed, it is so far beyond the ordinary that even I am startled by it. I have earned the attention of Legend, won the respect of Rune, and likely drawn the gaze of many more of whom I have yet to learn. _

_ It seems undeniable that I was instrumental in today’s battle with Leviathan. I know not what to make of this. From a utilitarian perspective, it is at once a good and a bad thing. I am now someone to be watched—which affords me respect, but also makes me a target. I know not whether I am ready to face this change. The world now looks rather different than it did yesterday. Yesterday, Lung was my most dangerous foe. Now? Now, I know not who my enemies are. _

_ I have, however, gained allies as well. Legend seems to respect me. Perhaps he merely seeks to manipulate me—but I shall manipulate him in return. He cannot allow me to die, and that gives me some semblance of security. Through this connection I retain some safety in the form of the Protectorate, despite my increasingly precarious position. _

_ And yet even my colleagues and friends are not beyond mistrust. As I saw today, temptation may subvert even the most stalwart will. Armsmaster is not a selfish man. He is merely a man who wished to protect his home. A man who convinced himself that, in keeping with that noble goal, it was fitting that he receive a Ring of Power. These Rings which I have created are powerful, dangerous, and above all  _ desirable _. Men will seek them, covet them, and may attempt to steal them. I must have care, lest I find Vilya or Narya taken from me._

_ But enough of this digression. I set my Wards against Leviathan. Why did I do this? Was I blind to the risks? Or did I think my teammates’ lives were a fitting trade for victory against the Endbringer? _

_ The very thought makes my skin crawl. My teammates are precious to me—more than I would have deemed possible but two months ago. Remembering Glory Girl’s ruined form upon the cot, it is terribly easy to imagine Dean, or Carlos, or Sophia in her place. The very image makes me sick. I am certain that, had such a thing happened, I would have been devastated. It is quite impossible to imagine myself coldly deciding that the cost was fair afterwards. To do so would be tantamount to a betrayal of all I have learned, all that I am, all that I represent. _

_ And yet I do not believe I was blind. I had just watched Amy, bowed over Victoria’s corpse; the unbreakable broken. I had just seen the suffering that comes with loss. I was not so foolish as to be blind to the possibility that one of us might die. _

_ And yet I acted. I drew the Ring-Bearers together, and together we struck at the monster. Why? _

_ I cannot place the word. Courage? Trust? Faith? _

_ I trusted my teammates. I had courage, and knew they would, too. I had faith that we would succeed. We are Ring-Bearers. We are blessed with power beyond the norm, power nearly beyond belief. We were forged for the impossible. _

_ Earth Bet has suffered under the heel of these Endbringers for too long. Mankind has its own demons to fight—avarice, hatred, and their ilk. These monstrosities, these Endbringers, are beyond what mere men can or  _ should _face. I know not why, but I feel somehow fated to fight these things—and to win._

_ Have I lost my mind? Why should I be the one to succeed where generations of capes have failed? What have I that they had not? _

_ I know not  _ what _, but I cannot convince myself that there is nothing. Is this pure arrogance, then? Simple-minded vanity? Am I so shallow that I must believe myself above even such personages as Legend, Eidolon, Alexandria, and Hero, merely to slake my own thirst for respect?_

_ And yet… _

_ And yet the Rings of Power are unlike any tinkertech I have seen or heard tell of. And yet Narsil shines with the light of sun and moon. And yet Iphannis is bright and sharp, and my armor is hard. And as I bear them all, encased in my shell of arms and armor, I no longer feel human. I become something else—something more. I am not invincible—I am not immune to fear, as Leviathan showed me. But I feel  _ powerful _. Not merely strong in the sword-arm, but strong in heart and mind and voice._

_ Would meek, beaten, sad little Taylor Hebert of yesteryear have been able to draw Sophia back from the pit? Would she have been able to strike Bakuda down, without hesitation or mercy? Would she have been able to stand against the sea itself, and say ‘stop’? I think not. I am more than I was. Not merely in the sense of power—as I warned Sophia, power merely allows one to endure. I do not merely endure—I  _ thrive _._

_ I find myself wondering if the answers to these questions lie in that same enigma that surrounds my powers. How am I a parahuman, without a functioning gemma? How have I powers with no apparent source? These questions linger, circling like vultures in my mind. And yet I have no way to know. Not yet. _

_ I have faith that answers will reveal themselves in time. _


	56. Douse 6.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

**Welcome to the Parahumans Online Message Boards**  
You are currently logged in, [U]Annatar[/U] (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)  
You are viewing:  
• Threads you have replied to  
• AND Threads that have new replies  
• OR private message conversations with new replies  
• Thread OP is displayed  
• Ten posts per page  
• Last ten messages in private message history  
• Threads and private messages are ordered by user custom preference.  
You have no infractions.

■

♦ **Topic: Annatar, the New Ward ENE!**  
**In: Boards ► Teams ► Wards ► ENE (Brockton Bay)**

 **Stratosphere** (Original Poster) (Veteran Member)  
Posted on April 16, 2011:

Thread for discussing the new Ward in Brockton Bay, Annatar. Mind the rules on your way in!

EDIT Tuesday, April 26: From what we can tell, Annatar was directly involved in the conflict with the ABB's Bakuda (thread here) which resulted in power going down throughout Brockton Bay. According to sources in the PRT (here, here, and here), Annatar was instrumental in preventing things from getting worse.

EDIT Sunday, May 15: I have no idea what is happening anymore q.q SOMEONE HELP ME VERIFY THIS STUFF

 **(Showing Page 1 of 47)**  
**► TheGuyInGreen**  (Banned)  
Replied on April 16, 2011:  
FIRST!

**This user received an infraction for this post. Really?**

**► sinnerman**  (Cape Groupie)  
Replied on April 16, 2011:  
To contribute something USEFUL, this mythril stuff. Sounds pretty useful. Think we'll start seeing Armsmaster decked out in it?

 **► TheSunGodRa** (Unverified Cape)  
Replied on April 16, 2011:  
@ sinnerman Seems likely. Brockton Bay's got a few good tinkers now, though. There's Armsmaster, obviously, but there's also Kid Win, Gallant, and now Annatar. I wonder if that'll mean something for the city? Cape capitol of America? Try Tinker capitol.

 **► Visionary**  (Actual Tinfoil Hat)  
Replied on April 16, 2011:  
@ TheSunGodRa YOUR PROPAGANDA CAN'T FOOL US!! WE KNOW GALLANT ISN'T A REAL TINKER! ANNATAR PROBABLY ISN'T EITHER!1!

 **► Prehensile**  
Replied on April 16, 2011:  
...Troll?

 **► sinnerman**  (Cape Groupie)  
Replied on April 16, 2011:  
@ Prehensile, yeah. He goes from thread to thread and accuses everyone of being in on one conspiracy or another. His favorite is that Brockton Bay is actually a PRT experiment in cape feudalism, and that the Protectorate presence there will be phased out in the next few years. I mean, I think that's his theory. It's sometimes hard to parse his posts tbh.

 **► Prehensile**  
Replied on April 16, 2011:  
Well, we respect your sacrifice @ sinnerman

Anyway, Annatar. That armor's not exactly tinker standard, is it? Looks almost medieval.

 **► Historiographer**  (Verified Historian)  
Replied on April 16, 2011:  
Annatar's armor is not historically accurate, but draws influences from several distinct historical sources. The helmet is clearly inspired by Viking styles, with the side panels as far back as they are and the wide opening for the lower face. Of course, Viking helmets tended to have a more pronounced conical tip (and no horns, you philistines), and of course, no plume. (Speaking of the plume, is that her hair? It looks like it. Interesting choice. It works better than I'd have expected it to.)

The platemail is obviously ahistorical. No armorsmith would have bothered with the sheer complexity of that many intricate moving parts in that many different shapes. How often does she have to oil that thing? I mean, unless mithril is also immune to friction. That being said, it bears some resemblances to German styles of the 18th century.

Curious to see her spear in action, too.

 **► Brocktonite03**  (Veteran Member) (At Ground Zero: Brockton Bay)  
Replied on April 16, 2011:  
@ Historiographer Hey, thanks! I wonder how much of this was part of Annatar's inspiration, and how much of it was from fantasy?

 **► bothad**  
Replied on April 16, 2011:  
Probably mostly fantasy. That platemail is straight out of fantasy, isn't it? Like @ Historiographer said, "some" resemblances. Read: almost none.  
**End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 45, 46, 47**

 **(Showing Page 47 of 47)**  
**► AgentSmith**  (Verified PRT Agent)  
Replied on May 16, 2011:  
Please, everyone, remain calm. I know things are extremely hectic right now, and I assure you, it's worse in Brockton Bay. We are currently running everything by our Thinkers and analysts, and we'll be releasing what we can to the news in the next few days. In the meantime, [I]please[/I] don't spread rumors or panic. The situation is under control.

 **► Tabloid**  (Verified Cape) (Verified Journalist)  
Replied on May 16, 2011:  
@ AgentSmith I don't think most of us are spreading panic. Rumors, maybe. On that topic... is it true that Annatar faced down Leviathan on her own and survived?

 **► Shadow Stalker** (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)  
Replied on May 16, 2011:  
Not on her own. We were there too--all seven of us. And yes, all of us are still alive, thank God.

 **► drain_bead**  (Cape Son)  
Replied on May 16, 2011:  
@ Shadow Stalker I call bullshit. No way eight people my age faced down a fucking Endbringer and won.

 **► Aegis** (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)  
Replied on May 16, 2011:  
@ Shadow Stalker, you and I need to have a talk about information security.

@ drain_bead, I understand your disbelief. If it helps, we definitely didn't win. We did manage to hold him in one place long enough for Bastion and the other force-field capes to set up protection around the hospital for the next tidal wave. That tidal wave swept all of us away, though, and some of us were pretty badly injured.

You've got to understand, when Annatar said that her tinkertech could give other people boosts, she was [I]really[/I] underselling. I don't want to say anything else without her express consent.

 **► Prehensile**  
Replied on May 16, 2011:  
Whatever happened, it was clearly pretty fucking big, and Annatar was at the middle of it. Her thread's more active than the Wards ENE general thread, and we've got two of her teammates in here now.

 **► Oracle** (Unverified Cape)  
Replied on May 16, 2011:  
@ drain_bead: I’ve spoken to people who were there, and it’s true. She got seven kids to face an Endbringer. That… isn’t a good thing. I’m worried about the effect Annatar’s having on other people. Especially her teammates.

 **► TheSunGodRa**  (Unverified Cape)  
Replied on May 16, 2011:  
@ Prehensile And those of us who have been Annatar fans since the beginning get to look superior and snooty. 

**► Annatar** (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)  
Replied on May 16, 2011:  
@ Aegis, @ Shadow Stalker, I don't think getting involved here is going to help anything.

Everyone, please. Yes, I was involved in the Endbringer fight. Yes, I contributed. Everyone did. It just so happens that my powers synchronize with large groups of capes working together. I'm sure the PRT/Protectorate will release more information soon.

**End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 45, 46, 47**

* * *

Even as I hit the _reply_ button, my screen flashed yellow. I reached over, grabbed my helmet from where it sat on the desk beside me, and put it on, slipping my hair through the hole in the back with practiced grace.

Hadn’t I only been here for about a month? Hadn’t I only owned this helmet since the beginning of April? It felt like years. When had Annatar become more a part of who I was than Taylor ever had been?

The elevator into the Wards’ headquarters slid open. Miss Militia stepped in. Following her was a girl with a star on her finger.

Panacea had cleaned up. Her face and hair were washed, and the tear tracks were gone from her cheeks. Nonetheless, I saw the hollow look in her eyes. She had not slept much, and likely would not for some time. She wore a red t-shirt and jeans, and her hands were hidden in her pockets.

“Annatar,” said Miss Militia. Her voice had a very slight edge. It wasn’t anything like the cloaked dislike I’d gotten used to, before Leviathan, but I had clearly done something she was displeased about.

I turned my swivel chair to face them. “Hello.”

“Panacea has been telling me—”

“That I gave her Nenya,” I interrupted. “It’s true.”

Miss Militia breathed in and out once, deeply. “When were you planning on telling me?”

“I was _planning_ on letting Panacea do it,” I said. “Unless it became clear she wasn’t going to.”

“You can’t do this sort of thing without clearing it with us, Annatar,” said Miss Militia, but she sounded almost resigned.

I glanced at Amy. She looked back at me for a moment, lips twisted, then said, “Ma’am, if Annatar had waited, I might be dead.”

Miss Militia blinked at her. “What?”

“I was suicidal. Without Nenya, I’m not sure I’d have survived the day. Annatar didn’t have time to get permission.”

Miss Militia turned to me. I shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

“Did you know about this?”

“I guessed.” I stood up, closing my laptop. “Besides, I’m not subordinating my Rings of Power to _anyone_. It’s simply not happening. I _will_ make sure you know where they are, but I’m not going to decide what to do with them at your order.”

Miss Militia grimaced. “Is this about Armsmaster?”

“No,” I said honestly. “That’s between him and me. I’m sure we’ll talk it through when he returns. But my policy is the same. Rings of Power go to the people I deem suitable—no one else.”

Miss Militia sighed. “Couldn’t you have at least told someone Panacea was in danger?” she asked. “And had professionals deal with that?”

“Maybe. And would they have tried to make her heal Carol? Would they have told her she had to go back to the Dallons?” I shook my head. “Amy didn’t need someone to tell her what was best for her, she needed to be given the capability to choose for herself. I was the only person who could give her that. Besides, I could _find_ her better than anyone else.” I glanced at Amy. “Speaking of which, what did you do?”

“Went to the hospital,” said Amy. “Fixed Carol. Fixed Mark’s depression, too.” She gave me a sad smile. “Nothing to hide from, anymore.”

_She could fix brains all along. No, not fix._

“What do you mean?” Miss Militia asked.

“I’m not a healer,” said Amy. “I’m a biokinetic. It was never that I _couldn’t_ fix brains—it was that I _didn’t_. Wouldn’t. Because once I let myself touch brains, it’s a hell of a slippery slope.”

Miss Militia looked like she wanted to ask more, but I interrupted. “So, what now? Have you made a decision?”

“New Wave isn’t for me,” said Amy immediately. “Aunt Sarah and Uncle Neil are fine, and I like Crystal and Eric, but I can’t deal with Carol and Mark. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

“Then?”

She sighed. “I don’t _know_ , Annatar. All I know is that I can’t go back to spending all my free time at the hospital. Nenya would let me do it—let me keep going until I _dropped dead_. There’s better uses for my power. And for Nenya. I just don’t know what they _are_.”

“The Wards are a good place to experiment,” Miss Militia suggested. “We quite literally have no competition when it comes to power testing.”

“The Wards also have a bad habit of leaving their capes in toxic home environments,” I countered. “Shadow Stalker is a prime example.”

Miss Militia grimaced, but didn’t reply.

“I have a lot of leverage, though,” Amy said, a cynical smirk on her face. “All I have to do is threaten to stop healing people, and they’ll be jumping to get me out of Carol’s house. No, the real problem is that I don’t know what I want to do _instead_.”

“Have you talked to her?” I asked.

Amy scowled. “No. She talked a bit at me. Woke up, started hissing and spitting.” Her bared teeth shifted into a cruel grin. “I was tempted to give her fur, I’m not gonna lie.”

I considered her. The anger was understandable. What Carol had said to her, over Vicky’s body, was unforgivable—and the fact that Amy was still controlling herself made me all the more sure that Nenya had gone to a good Bearer. Still, though, something ought to be done. “I could talk to her.”

“Oh, no,” said Miss Militia sharply. “You’re not turning your thinker powers onto yet another hero on a whim.”

“Does she really sound like a hero?” I asked Miss Militia incredulously. “You weren’t there when she was blaming Amy and Gallant for Glory Girl’s death, when she was accusing Amy of not loving her sister. Carol Dallon _needs_ to be talked to.” I shook my head. “You let me talk to Shadow Stalker, after all.”

“Yes. We did.” Miss Militia’s voice was cold. “And if anything could convince me that you have an unregistered master power, it’s her change in behavior afterwards. I am _not_ letting you use that on everyone you disagree with.”

My eyes widened. I clenched my fists. For a moment there was silence.

“You did _not_ ,” I said, my voice like ice, “just accuse me of mastering Shadow Stalker.”

Miss Militia held her ground. “Maybe you didn’t,” she said, “but look at it from my perspective, Annatar. That girl has become incredibly loyal to you, incredibly quickly—when not two months ago, you _hated_ each other.”

“I gave her what she wanted,” I hissed, Vilya shimmering on my finger. “I gave her a fucking _chance_. I gave her what she _needed_ —not training, not a blind eye, but _guidance_. You think everyone doesn’t have something like that? You think _you_ don’t have a breakpoint, a weak link in your armor? It doesn’t take a fucking _master_ to win people’s loyalty—ask your great American demagogues.”

Miss Militia stepped back. I stepped forward.

“All I have is _insight_ ,” I said. “No powers to enslave or control. Just the ability to see what people want, and what they need. It was to Shadow Stalker’s good fortune that I was there to give her what _she_ needed.”

“And to your good fortune, I would assume,” said Miss Militia through gritted teeth.

That brought me up short. I sighed, and allowed the tension to drain slowly out of my frame. I shook my head. “Shadow Stalker is a good friend,” I said at last. “I value her companionship. There was a time when all I wanted was a hero I could use, to better the city. That time has passed. Yes, Miss Militia, it is to my good fortune—because that day, that chance, won me a friend like none I’ve had before.” I looked away, back at my desk. “Amy needs a place to stay,” I said. “And Carol needs therapy—and you know she won’t take it herself. Let me _talk_ to her. Let me at least _try_.”

“I don’t think I’m willing to go back even if she’ll take me,” Amy said suddenly.

I looked at her. “That’s your decision,” I said. “But Carol needs help, regardless. She’s supposedly a _hero_ , but she can’t be much of one when she’s half-insane.” I turned back to Miss Militia. “Please,” I said. “I can _help_.”

She looked at me. Wither her bandana covering most of her face, her expression was unreadable.

At length she nodded. “Fine. But first, there’s someone else I’d like you to talk to.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Grue returned to our custody,” she said. “He wants to negotiate terms—and neither Piggot nor I can afford the resources necessary to work out an optimal deal. You want to give people what they want? Here’s where you can start.” She grimaced. “And… try not to give him a Ring of Power?”

_End Arc 6: Douse_


	57. Blaze 7.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 on QuestionableQuesting for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

The black helmet turned to face me as I entered the interview room. The deep pits of eye sockets in the stylized skull of a mask seemed to fix me with their gaze.

I closed the door behind me, shutting out the faint sounds of working PRT troopers, and stepped forward. I slipped into the chair across from Grue and folded my hands together.

Neither of us spoke for a time.

“Didn’t expect you to be here,” he admitted finally. “Thought it’d be Miss Militia, or a PRT officer.”

“I’m here at Miss Militia’s request,” I said. “The PRT is understaffed at the moment. I’m sure you understand.”

“Yeah. Endbringers will do that.”

Silence fell again.

“You gonna say anything?” he finally asked.

“I’m trying to decide on my approach.” I sighed. “All right. I won’t ask you to reveal your face, even though it would make this easier.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“You misunderstand. We _have_ your identity. I don’t need leverage, I need _rapport_. Without being able to see your face, it’ll be a little harder. But I can manage.”

“Glad to see you think I’ll be that easy to manipulate.”

I shook my head. “You’re coming at this the wrong way, Grue. You came to _us_. This doesn’t have to be a conflict.”

Grue laughed hollowly. “I came back because I have _nowhere else to go_ , and I’d rather not turn up dead in a ditch in a few weeks.”

“But you came,” I said. “And I think we can work together, if you’ll allow it.”

He didn’t answer.

“So tell me, Grue.” I leaned forward, resting my weight on my elbows. “What do you want? Tell me your plan, going forward.”

“I don’t _have_ a plan,” he said, and I heard his gritted teeth in every sound. “If I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t be here.”

I shook my head, sighing. “No, that’s not what I mean. Grue, you must have had a reason to be a supervillain. Everyone does. Tell me how I can help you fulfill it, and I’ll tell you how _you_ can help _me_ in return.”

He was perfectly still. “A trade?”

I nodded. “If I can give you what you want, and you’re willing to give me what I need, then yes. A trade. But we can’t trade until we’ve talked.”

Silence fell again. He was indecisive. I saw it in the drumming of his fingers on his pant leg.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let Miss Militia send me in here without seeing your file,” I said ruefully. “I’d probably be able to _guess_ what it was, if I knew who you were. Look, you can talk to me now, or I can go, get permission to see your file, and we can have this talk again—only next time, I’ll be holding all the cards.”

“Fine.” He sounded angry, but beneath that lay resignation. “You go first. What do you want from me?”

“I want allies,” I said. “I want people who will help me protect this city and its people.”

“You want me to join the Wards.”

I blinked. “Wards? You’re not eighteen?”

“Seventeen, for a bit longer.”

“Mm. You hold yourself like an adult. My mistake.”

“It’s fine,” he said, clearly on a reflex. “I’m not a hero. Not exactly hero material.”

“Nor was Shadow Stalker,” I said.

He chuckled at that, as if in amusement at a private joke. “You don’t say? You know she shot me, right?”

I grimaced. “I’m not surprised. Shadow Stalker had— _has_ —a pretty big chip on her shoulder. We’re working on it.”

“What are you, her therapist?”

“In a sense,” I allowed. “I gave her a chance when she deserved none. And now I’m making sure she doesn’t waste it.”

“And you see yourself being that for me, too.”

I shook my head. “Believe me, you’re _much_ more well-adjusted than she was when I first joined the Wards. No, Grue, all I want to do here is find a way for being a hero to give you what you want.”

There was silence. I allowed it to stretch. He was thinking, and interrupting would only make him recoil.

At long last, he spoke. “Fine.” He reached up, and took off the motorcycle helmet.

A dark-skinned face looked back at me. His black hair was done into tight cornrows, and his features were hard and masculine. And yet, in his eyes, I saw veiled fear, insecurity.

This was a man who hid behind his masculinity. I mentally adjusted my approach as I reached up myself.

Off came my own helmet, and I set it down on the table beside me. “Taylor Hebert,” I said, holding out a hand.

He shook. “Brian Laborn.”

“So,” I said, folding my hands again. “Brian. Tell me what you want.”

He considered me for a moment. “It’s my sister,” he said at last. “It’s—” he shook his head. “I don’t know how to start.”

“At the beginning,” I suggested. “Continue until the end. Then stop.”

He smiled slightly. “Fine. My parents split up years ago. My dad tries, but he’s—he’s just not cut out for parenthood. Doesn’t know how. Bonding with him meant sparring until I had a black eye—and he has no idea what to do with my little sister.”

He hesitated a moment, in case I wanted to interrupt. I didn’t, so he continued.

“My _mother_ ,” he continued, and I could hear the faint, venomous undercurrent, “is worse. Drugs, alcoholism… everything short of open prostitution.” His face twisted. “My sister’s with my dad, but I want better for her.”

I was beginning to understand, but a few key details still didn’t add up.

“I became a supervillain so I could live on my own, at first,” he said. “Then, after that, I started thinking about asking Aisha to move in with me. Thing is, I’d need to be able to demonstrate a stable job, and get my parents’ support. My dad agreed, but my mom…” He trailed off.

“How did being a supervillain help you there, though?” I asked. “I doubt it would count for much in court.”

His lips twitched into a small grin. “Tattletale’s boss helped there,” he said. “Never found out who he was, but he funneled money to us in exchange for us doing the jobs he wanted. In my case, he did it through a phony job that I could use in court. As soon as I turned eighteen, I was going to petition for custody of my sister.”

I nodded slowly. “I understand.”

“So when I was captured and unmasked,” Grue said, “I knew it was over. Even if I escaped, and the PRT didn’t release my identity publicly, I would still never be allowed custody over my sister. That’s why I came back—figured my best option was to take my jail time, and then take my chances when I got out again. I haven’t killed anyone, I’m still a minor, and I hoped helping with the Endbringer would give me a reduced sentence.”

“Well, you were right,” I said. “You will get a reduced sentence.”

His eyes narrowed. “You and I mean different things when we say that.”

I smiled. “I think we can help each other,” I said. “I think we can get you a stable job, and help you get custody of your sister when you turn eighteen. And I think _you_ can help _us_ keep this city standing, in the next few months.”

His eyes narrowed. “You really think the PRT will go along with this?”

“We’ll have to see if I can convince them,” I said, standing up and reaching for my helmet. “But you have my word that I’ll try.”

His lips twisted. “Wish I could say that was worth something.”

I smiled. “It will be.”

* * *

 

It was a familiar scene. I stood, hands clasped behind the small of my back, across from Director Piggot. Her desk was between us. She had dark circles under her eyes—marks of the ongoing stress of dealing with the aftermath of Leviathan’s passage. Nonetheless, her eyes were as hard and bright as ever as they met mine.

“I doubt I can condone launching an investigation into a private household on the word of a captured supervillain,” she said, but despite her words, her tone was absent of any derision.

“I know,” I said. “That’s why I propose a more moderate approach. Let’s allow him to do exactly what he was originally planning.”

“Acquire guardianship through the usual channels? He might have trouble finding the time to care for a child as a hero.”

I nodded. “If we actually encourage him to _take_ his vacation days, rather than working all the time, he should be able to manage. His income as a Protectorate hero, once he turns eighteen, will be more than enough to support him and his sister. And since he’ll be a Protectorate hero, we can protect his identity in the courts, which gives us a little more leverage over his mother.”

“Callous of you.”

I smiled thinly. “Ma’am, I have an instinct for these things. Grue was telling me the truth, and I have _very_ little sympathy for his mother on this one.”

She nodded slowly. “I can understand that.” She broke eye contact, and looked down at the computer monitor on her desk. “Give me a bit to think about it. It’s not a bad idea.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” I turned to go as she started typing.

“Hold on a moment.”

I stopped and turned back. “Director?”

She finished whatever she was doing on her computer and looked back up at me. “We never caught up on that mess with Bakuda,” she said. “Never had a chance.”

I straightened slightly and nodded. “Of course.”

“Miss Militia has expressed her concerns about your conduct. I believe she’s talked about it with you, too?”

I nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good.” She chewed her tongue for a moment, as though contemplating how to proceed. “Now, the PRT unofficially approved your actions with the Chief Director’s back-dated kill order. As such, I won’t be punishing you. That being said, I still want to talk about what happened. Just so we’re on the same page.”

So I talked. I told her about the timestop bomb, about the apparent loss of the other Wards. I told her about Sophia’s warning, and about going out with Belthronding and Aeglos to stop Bakuda before she could do any more damage. I told her about how I’d disabled her bike with one well-placed arrow, and how, after the explosion of her EMP bomb, I’d disabled the tinker’s deadman’s switch and driven Aeglos into her chest.

“So you can confirm that Bakuda was not a hazard by the time you killed her?”

“No more than any other parahuman prisoner.”

Piggot gave a faint, wolfish grin. “Good answer. No such thing as a safe parahuman. Any reason you couldn’t have kept her permanently Mastered?”

I shrugged. “I might have managed it, but there’s always a chance that, through an effort of will, someone might cast off Vilya’s effect. With someone as potentially dangerous as Bakuda, I don’t think that would have been a good risk to take.”

Piggot nodded. “We couldn’t have used her if she was permanently mastered anyway,” she said. Her smiled widened into a bitter, sardonic thing. “We’re the _good guys_ , after all.”

“Ma’am?”

She blinked, and seemed to come out of some reverie. “Sorry,” she said. “Back to the topic. Why did you kill her? No excuses—just tell me why.”

“I was avenging my friends.”

She considered me for a moment, and then nodded once. “Nice to see you really are human under all the glitter,” she said, and there was something odd in her voice.

“Excuse me?”

She ignored the question. “I respect what you did. If the PRT hadn’t sanctioned it, I would have defended you from the worst of the punishment, if I could. I want you to know that.”

I stared at her. “Really? Why?”

She gave a quiet, dry laugh—little more than a sigh. “Because I get it.” She looked back down at her monitor. “I need to clear things with the Chief Director, but I’ll probably hear back by the end of the day, tomorrow at the latest. Once I have, we’ll open proper negotiations with Grue.”

“So you’ll…?”

“I think we can use Grue, same as you,” she said. “Right and wrong don’t enter into it as much as someone like Miss Militia would like. It’s the same logic that made me offer Shadow Stalker a probationary position in the Wards, almost a year ago. It’s what made me let _you_ go in, when you first joined, and talk to her rather than kicking her out—even though I knew you might just try to master her. It was a risk worth taking.”

“We can _use_ heroes,” I said.

She openly smiled—a crooked, slightly sour thing, cynical and old. “Exactly.”


	58. Blaze 7.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

On the one-week anniversary of Leviathan’s attack, my alarm woke me to the smell of frying bacon and eggs.

This was unusual. Dad didn’t get up early enough to have breakfast cooking when I woke, ever. Maybe I was being paranoid, but so many things had changed so quickly that I found myself growing nervous.

I carefully drew the covers away from myself and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My bare feet didn’t make a sound as I stood. On my finger, Vilya was already shimmering in response to my feelings.

Rather than make straight for the bathroom and shower, I crept downstairs. The stairs creaked under my feet once or twice. Instead of fear, though, the sounds sent me into mourning. I’d never been so careless with Nenya.

At last I reached the base of the stairs, and poked my head out into the kitchen.

There was Dad, already dressed. His back was to me, and I saw his ring glinting in the electric lighting. The skillet in front of him was hissing and smoking slightly, and I could smell the delightful, sharp scent of greasy bacon, making my mouth water.

…Was he humming?

“Dad?”

He turned, startled. “Oh, Taylor! I didn’t hear you get up. How did you sleep?”

“Well enough. What are you doing up so early?”

He shrugged, smiling slightly. “Lot of work to do,” he said. “There’s not much of a dock anymore, not that there was much business to begin with. Getting the guys new jobs and organizing them for repairs and salvage operations is my responsibility. Besides”—he jerked his head at the fridge—“getting fresh groceries is going to be harder now. I’d rather eat it while it’s still good.”

I studied him. “You’re okay?”

His smile remained, but his eyes grew sad—but only slightly. “I’m okay, Taylor. Thank you.”

Slowly, I nodded. “Good. Do I have time to shower before breakfast?”

“If you hurry. I’ll save you… mm, maybe a quarter of the bacon?”

I grinned. “I’ll hurry.”

* * *

 

“Move your feet!” I ordered. “It’s not a shield, and you’re not a phalanx!”

“The hell even is a phalanx?” Sophia growled through teeth gritted in concentration.

We circled one another, wooden approximations of swords in our hands. The Wards had their own sparring mat in the PRT building, along with blunt training weapons. Sophia had offered to partner with me for swordplay, though she didn’t know the first thing about the art.

And so now I was teaching her.

“Phalanx,” I said, my eyes darting over her guard. She was a fast learner, I had to give her that. Her guard was clumsy, but complete. I could break it, but I saw no obvious holes to take advantage of. “A military formation used by the ancient Greeks. Wall of shields in the front, with spears poking through from behind. Sometimes with shields overhead to protect from archers. Sort of an infantry battering ram.”

“What does that have to do with—”

“You’re holding your sword too stiffly, and moving too methodically. We aren’t on a grid, and you aren’t a block of organized soldiers.” I swung in a feint, and then whirled as her guard rose to block, dancing around her and striking her a glancing blow across the side. “It’s a longsword, not a claymore. No need to carry it like a crowbar.”

She grimaced. “I don’t think I have a knack for this.”

“I disagree.” I struck again, this time a testing blow, and was pleased when she parried and even counter-struck. I danced away from the swing, smiling. “Your guard’s making serious strides, and your cut’s improving.”

I deflected a couple more strikes, waiting. Then, when she overcommitted to an attack, I parried her blade away and delivered a thrust to her thigh.

“Still don’t understand how you can do that,” she grumbled, wringing out her hands where the shock of the parry had jolted her. “Your wrists are perpendicular to the hilt! How can you control it well enough to be accurate?”

I shrugged. “Partly, it’s a sword, not a crossbow bolt. Doesn’t need to be _that_ accurate. And partly, just practice.”

“You’ve only been using a sword for a few weeks!”

I smiled sheepishly. “Well… I’ve been practicing a lot?”

In truth, it felt like _much_ longer than a mere few weeks since I’d first taken up the blade. Narsil’s weight and shape had been familiar to me from the moment I’d first made it. The sword itself was new to me, but I felt even then as though I’d been using _swords_ for many years.

I didn’t really know what to chalk that up to, except talent or powers. And the question of my powers was still bothering me.

Sophia’s eyes were narrowed at me in what, on someone else, might have been called a pout. “Fucking combat thinkers,” she muttered.

I shrugged.

Just as we were about to cross swords for another bout, the monitors around the room flashed yellow and the alarm blared. I stuck my sparring blade under my arm and crossed to the side of the mat to pick up my helmet, Sophia at my heels, making for her mask. The door opened not long after we’d masked ourselves again.

“Miss Militia,” I said, saluting her with my wooden sword. “You need something?”

“Annatar, Shadow Stalker,” she greeted. “Yes. Annatar, Panacea is currently finishing her negotiations with the director regarding her Wards contract.”

I smiled. “Great. It’ll be good to have her.” Amy had been in and out of Piggot’s office for days. I was glad they’d finally settled things.

“In addition, Aegis has been recalled from his current patrol. When he arrives, Director Piggot wants to see the both of you. It’s about Grue.”

“What about Grue?” Sophia asked.

“Has Piggot heard back, then?”

Miss Militia nodded. “Apparently, she has the PRT’s blessing to use her judgement on this matter. She wants to see you and Aegis about it.”

“What matter?” Sophia sounded tense, now.

I turned to her. “Grue’s probably joining the Wards,” I said.

She stared at me. I couldn’t see her face under her mask, and even her eyes, normally so expressive, seemed dark and impassive. “You’re kidding.”

I shook my head. “I know you have problems with him, but we need everyone we can get on board. I talked to him, and we worked out a deal.”

She was staring at me. I wished I could see her face.

“What do you even have against him?” I asked. “I don’t think you ever told me.”

She took a moment before answering. “If he’s serious about working with us, nothing.” She sighed. “It’s petty, I guess. His power interferes with mine. I don’t like not feeling…”

She trailed off, but I filled in the blanks. _Not feeling in control._

“I understand,” I said. “Can you work with him?”

“Yes,” she said, without an instant of hesitation.

“Are you sure?” I pressed.

“If you want me to, I can work with him.” Her voice was firm.

I nodded. “Okay. Thank you.” I turned back to Miss Militia. “Where is Aegis, anyway?”

“He was patrolling the south side of downtown,” she said. “He should return shortly. I’ll have someone text you when he arrives.”

* * *

 

“This is a bit different from last time,” Dennis drawled, his feet up on the coffee table.

“What,” Vista asked. “You mean we don’t have Armsmaster in the other room, and one of us isn’t in danger of being kicked out?”

“I mean I was more thinking that Annatar wasn’t a _villain_ , but yeah. That too.”

We were seated around the coffee table in the Wards’ little lounge in the PRT building’s underground—the very same room where, only a month and a half ago, I had introduced myself to the other Wards.

Amy raised her hand. “I’m not a villain.”

“None of us are villains,” I said. My voice came out a little harsher than I intended. “If we were, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Uh,” Grue said, raising one finger.

“ _Are_. Present tense.”

He lowered the finger.

“Seriously though, Annatar,” said Chris. “You’re not expecting us to unmask in front of him, are you?”

“I’m expecting you to do what you can to make this team work,” I said. “If you can’t comfortably unmask, fine. But if you can, please do.”

“Well said,” agreed Aegis, and raised his hands to take off his mask. He set it on his knee and stretched out a hand to Grue. “Carlos Casiano,” he said, smiling.

For a moment, I wasn’t certain Grue would take the olive branch. Then, hesitantly, he reached up and took off his helmet, revealing the dark face I’d spoken to yesterday.

“Brian Laborn,” he said, and shook.

“Amy Dallon,” said Amy, with a roll of her eyes. “You all do realize how _weird_ this is, right?”

I laughed as I took off my helmet. “Useful, though,” I said. “And you all know me already.”

Sophia, of all people, was next to follow suit. “Sophia Hess.”

Sam was next. “Sam Keene,” he introduced.

I realized in that moment that Sam, out of all of us, was the most seldom unmasked. Even among us, he seemed always more comfortable with his face covered. Receiving Ondoya had not changed this. But _he_ had changed—the young man I saw now had an open smile upon his lips, and eyes which twinkled with life. It was a far cry from the closed, quiet boy I’d met in April.

“Well, seems like everyone’s sharing.” Dennis pulled his faceplate away, revealing his red hair and freckles. “Dennis O’Donnell.”

Chris grumbled. “Fine. Chris Thompson.” He pulled off his visor.

Missy sighed. “Missy Biron. What is this, show and tell?”

There was an awkward pause for a moment, before Missy prodded Dean’s knee. He started, as if roused from a stupor, and immediately pulled off his helmet.

His eyes were red, but clear. “Dean Stansfield. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Amy’s voice was soft. Their eyes met, and I found myself looking away.

“Anyway, Grue.” Carlos’ voice broke the moment. “Have you talked to Piggot about rebranding? ‘Grue’ doesn’t scream hero material.”

Brian frowned slightly. “I kind of like this identity,” he said. “It’s—I don’t know, it’s _mine_.”

“Did you choose it?” Sophia asked. “I remember I didn’t choose mine. Independents get saddled with them, a lot of the time.”

Grue actually smiled a little. “Yeah, I’ve heard of that happening. I did choose mine though. ‘Grue’ is Old English, means creepy or scary. Reputation’s important, and the first part of building a reputation is a good name.”

“You can do better than being named after an obscure Old English word,” I said dryly.

He blinked at me. Then he grinned. “Yeah, I guess I can.”

“You’ve got time to think, anyway,” said Carlos. “You’re not going to be patrolling for at least a week or two while the image department figures out what they want to do. I’m sure there’ll be a press conference or something.”

“What about me?” asked Amy. “I’m already pretty well established, and people will figure out I’m not with New Wave anymore pretty quickly.”

Aegis shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I’m just the Wards captain—you’ll have to ask your image guy, or Piggot. I doubt you’ll have to rebrand, though.”

“I might rebrand anyway,” said Amy grimly. “I’m really tired of being New Wave’s _pet healer_.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I said quietly.

Her eyes met mine. I saw mingled there hurt, and grief, and bitterness, and determination.

“I know,” she said eventually. “But I’m not a forgiving person, by nature.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to be volunteering at the hospital anymore?” Dennis asked.

“No, I probably still will be. I’ll just, you know, be doing other things too. Why? You have someone there?”

Dennis looked away. “No, it’s—” He sighed. “I know you don’t take requests.”

“His dad,” I said for him. “Leukemia.”

Amy nodded. “All right. I’ll see what I can do. Which hospital?”

Dennis was blinking at her. “Uh. Brockton General.”

She nodded. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“Amy,” Dean said slowly, “you set that rule for a reason. Are you—”

“Rules,” Amy interrupted, “are ways to hide from choices you don’t want to make. A way to keep doors closed that shouldn’t be opened. And that’s good, if you have options you’re afraid to take.”

An image flashed in my mind at her words. A Ring of Power, quite unlike any of the others. I forced the thought away. _That’s my rule._

“I,” Amy said with a tight little smile, “am not afraid anymore. There’s nothing left to fear.”


	59. Blaze 7.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

“So, let me get this straight.”

I nodded absently as I carefully struck at the blazing block of metal on the anvil.

“You found Aeglos after the fight with Leviathan,” Chris prompted.

“Mm hmm.”

“You were pleasantly surprised that it was undamaged.”

“Yep.” I lifted the bar and looked down its length. The blade was still true.

“So you decided it needed a new name.”

“New _identity_ , more like.”

“…I’m missing something.”

I went back to my hammering. “ _Aeglos_ means ‘icicle,’” I explained. “In Sindarin. A mere icicle couldn’t hold back Leviathan, like Aeglos did. It needed a new identity to reflect its achievement.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

I shrugged. The blade was forged to length and shape, now, so I began working on forming the edge bevel.

“Anyway. New identity, right.” Chris shook his head. “So… you decided that meant you had to take it apart and build it all over again?”

“It needed to be reforged.”

“But _why_?”

“The old spear was Aeglos. The new one will be Iphannis.” I glanced at him. “How’s that haft coming?”

“Nearly done,” he said. He glanced over his workspace, covered with a lattice of wires and welding equipment. “How about the point?”

I raised the curved blade and looked down the length again. The bevels were satisfactory for pre-grinding, and the line was still straight. “Needs quenching, grinding, and heat-treating. Should be ready in a couple hours.”

“You think you’ll have it done before your patrol tonight?”

I nodded as I lowered the blade into the water bath. “I should, yes. Thanks for all your help.”

“Happy to be of service… even if this makes no sense.”

I shook my head with a smile. “The results will speak for themselves.”

* * *

 

A gibbous moon shone pale over the evening streets. The last vestiges of sunlight still painted the western sky in golds and oranges. The night was warm and humid; summer was coming. It draped over the city like a woolen blanket, dampening everything and leaving me a little uncomfortable in my armor and linings.

The city was alive with the sound of labor, as buildings were repaired and infrastructure was reinforced. Jackhammers drummed a clanging beat upon asphalt, concrete, and stone. Rich men shouted at foremen, foremen shouted at workmen, and workmen, lacking an outlet, shouted at one another.

None of this activity spilled into this part of the city, though, south of downtown. The streets we walked were deserted—eerily so.

Each of us had patrolled often, in the days since Leviathan’s attack. As a rule, our daylight patrols were done in pairs, and our evening and night patrols were done as groups of three. One Ward was always left on the console.

Today, Sophia, Browbeat, and I were one group, while Aegis, Vista, and Gallant were another. Clockblocker was on console. The others went north, pushing into Lung’s territory and trying to restore some semblance of order. Meanwhile, we went south into E88 turf.

Aegis didn’t expect us to encounter any parahuman resistance, but we were to stop any crime we saw and remain on the watch for looting.

We had expected to easily find trouble. That expectation was being sorely tested now.

“I don’t want to sound like an action movie,” Sophia muttered, “ but it’s too quiet.”

I nodded slowly.

“It’s Empire,” said Browbeat. “I haven’t seen a single skinhead. They’re usually pretty careful to be watching every street around here. Part of that’s Leviathan—they’re a lot busier, now—but this is still unusual.”

“Any guesses what they’re up to?” Sophia asked.

“No idea.”

“Shadow Stalker, get on the rooftops,” I ordered. “Scout. We need to figure out what’s going on.”

“On it.” Sophia disappeared in a smoky burst of darkness.

I glanced at Browbeat. “I’ll take point. Can you call this in?”

He nodded wordlessly, and fell into step behind me. As we continued down the street, his low voice echoed through the empty streets.

“This is Browbeat. We think the Empire’s up to something.”

It was not the first time, and wouldn’t be the last, but I missed Nenya. With the Ring of Adamant, I’d have been able to pick out the Empire’s activity in minutes. I’d have led my teammates right to them. But with Vilya on my finger, I felt half-blind.

“…No presence on the streets. They usually…”

That was probably because I wasn’t using Vilya properly, though.

I stopped and closed my eyes. Browbeat tripped over his words momentarily as he stopped, too, before continuing to talk quietly into the radio.

I reached my awareness into Vilya. I had never worn the Ring of Air as much as Narya or Nenya. Its powers were more esoteric, and it never seemed to be the right Ring for the moment.

But it was the Dominant Ring for a reason. It might seldom be the perfect Ring, but it was almost never the _wrong_ Ring.

I had not often tested its precognitive powers. I knew it could give me little more than a vague direction, or a general sense of the gravity of something to come.

I reached out and allowed myself to simply feel the shape of the future. I asked no specific question, not yet. I just ran my mental fingers over the body of Tomorrow.

 _Something bad is coming_. I knew that already, though. Vilya had been paired with foreboding almost since the moment I put it on for the first time after Leviathan. Something was coming, and I had no way to know how soon or from where.

I knew it was drawing closer, though.

I shook this off. Worrying about the general cloud I felt hanging over the future would do me no good now. I tried to focus—to feel the future as it related to the Empire.

Anyone over the age of three understands causation. The future flows from the past in predictable and comprehensible ways, even though the sum of all these causal relations produces a universe far too complex for anyone but a precog to model. Vilya understood this as well, and so I was unsurprised when, rather than giving me some mysterious insight into the future, my attention was instead drawn to a memory.

 _We’re going to have to recruit_ , Rune had said.

“They’re trying to fill out their ranks,” I said, opening my eyes. “They lost too many capes to Leviathan. They need to recoup those losses, and that’s what they’re doing now.”

“Wouldn’t there be _more_ people out if it was a recruitment drive?” Browbeat asked.

“They finished the drive,” I said. “This is the informational meeting.” I pulled out my radio and tapped into Sophia’s frequency. “Shadow Stalker, we’re looking for a big meeting. See anything?”

“ _I mean, we knew they were probably going to be grouped up, since they weren’t on the streets,_ ” she said. “ _No, I don’t see anything. You figure something out?_ ”

“It’s a meeting to get new capes and recruits into the fold,” I said. “I’m pretty sure about this.”

“I live around here,” said Browbeat slowly. “They might be meeting at the theater.”

“Theater?” I turned to him. “What theater?”

“Anders Concert Hall,” Browbeat explained. “Pretty big auditorium. I know E88 has done things there before.”

I reached out with Vilya, trying to get a feel for what the future of Anders Concert Hall felt like.

It felt like blades.

“It’s there,” I said. “Can you guide us?”

He nodded, jogging past me. “Follow me.”

“Shadow Stalker,” I said into the radio. “We know where they are. Anders Concert Hall. Keep to the rooftops and look for any patrols while I call it in.”

“Got it.”

I swapped frequencies. “Console, this is Annatar. My precognition suggests that E88 is meeting at Anders Concert Hall. We’re moving in.”

“Console here.” Clockblocker didn’t sound happy. “Annatar, the three of you are _not_ to engage all of E88 on your own.”

“We’ll stick to recon unless we get backup,” I promised. “ _Can_ we get backup, by the way?”

“I have Aegis’ squad on standby,” he said, “and Director Piggot is—” he stopped, then started again. “I’ve just heard back from her. She wants confirmation before ordering the Protectorate to move, but if you can get confirmation, she’ll send you Protectorate and PRT support.”

“Thank you,” I said. “We’ll have that conversation in a couple minutes.” I lowered the radio. “How much farther, Browbeat?”

“Not far,” he said. “We should be careful. They’ll have sentries.”

I nodded. “Stop,” I ordered. “In that alleyway.”

We ducked into the small alcove, and I spoke into my radio again, on Sophia’s channel. “Shadow Stalker, we need their sentries found and disabled.”

“Already on it,” she said, her whisper barely hissing through the speaker. “There’s a guy on the roof of this building. I’m going to take him out, then see what I can get from his position.”

“Careful,” I warned. “They might have overlapping positions.”

“They do. Empire always does. I know what I’m doing, Annatar, trust me.”

“I do. Good luck.”

I waited with bated breath, the radio silent in my hand. The silence stretched. Ten seconds… thirty… a minute.

Just as I was starting to panic, as I began thinking of contacting Clockblocker and reporting Sophia’s disappearance, Sophia’s voice returned. “Yeah,” she said, “definitely an interlocking patrol. I’m still hidden, and one guy’s down. They haven’t realized.”

“How?” I asked.

“He was leaning against a wall,” she said. “He still is. He’s just unconscious now. I might be able to pick out a couple more, but it’s going to get harder. At some point we’ll have to move, and do something.”

I closed my eyes, thinking.

“Shadow Stalker could infiltrate, keep to the shadows,” Browbeat suggested. “We could use her radio to hear what’s happening while the PRT approach?”

“I don’t like sending her in alone,” I said. “What if something goes wrong?”

“She can take care of herself,” he said. “She’s quick, and has a good power for escaping. She’ll be fine. We need to get in there.”

I sighed and turned my frequency back to console. “This is Annatar. We can confirm the presence of E88 around the concert hall. Heavy Empire presence in the area—organized patrols. Requesting permission to send Shadow Stalker to infiltrate the meeting?”

“This is Console, please stand by,” said Clockblocker shortly.

I worried my lower lip as I waited. At length, Clockblocker spoke again.

“Permission granted,” he said. “Tell her to be careful. Aegis’ squad is en route to your position, as are a Protectorate detachment under Miss Militia, and a PRT squadron.”

“They’re not using the PRT vans, are they?”

“No. Unmarked civilian vehicles. Stealth op.”

“Good. Shadow Stalker will patch us the meeting audio and video through her helmet camera. Maintain radio contact.”

“You too.”

I swapped channels. “Shadow Stalker,” I said. “You’re going to infiltrate the meeting on your own. Can you do that?”

“Of course.”

“Use your radio to patch us the audio, and your helmet cam to give us video.”

“Will do. We getting reinforcements?”

“Yes. Be careful, though; they’ll be a while.”

“Hey.” There was a smile in her voice. “Careful’s my middle name. Don’t worry about me.”

This whole scenario was a little uncomfortably familiar. “Can’t help it.”

“I’m flattered. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck,” I said, but by the indicator light on my handheld, her radio had disconnected from the network—she’d phased into shadow.

At length, she reconnected. But it wasn’t her voice I heard across the radio.

“ _…Leviathan was just the last, and most obvious straw._ ” I recognized the voice. Kaiser was an accomplished speaker, and a man of no small power. There was no mistaking that clearly affected aristocratic lilt, that deliberately placed hint of an upper-class British accent.

There were two kinds of demagogues—those who bolstered men’s virtues, and the far more common ones who preyed on their sins. Kaiser’s meal of choice was pride.

“ _This city—this_ country _—has been sliding into depravity for years,_ ” he continued. “ _But you all know that. None of you would be here if you didn’t. And you all know the source!_ ”

Cheering. A wave of disgust rose in the pit of my stomach, but I forced it down as Kaiser continued.

“ _This country has failed to enforce its own laws!_ ” he declared. “ _It has allowed soft, weak-minded pity to outweigh pragmatism! It has spent enormous amounts of money, effort, and time to make sure the stupid, the inferior, the useless are cared for, while those who are useful are drained and tossed aside! Leviathan’s passage has left this city in need of aid, and where is that aid being sent? To the ‘less-privileged!’ The_ lazy _! Those people who contribute nothing, and yet are somehow entitled to our tax money, while we hard-working Americans continue to pay their way! This country’s social institutions have become a vampire, sucking away at the lifeblood, the moral fiber, that made America great from the beginning!_ ”

The cheering was so loud, now, that I had to turn the radio down another few notches in the interest of caution.

“Man knows how to work a crowd,” murmured Browbeat. There was something odd in his voice. Disgust, yes, as I might have expected—but also something like shame.

I didn’t answer. Kaiser was speaking again. “ _That is why we are here!_ We _are providing aid to those who need it—to those who deserve it! We are not so concerned with some arbitrary agenda that we will allow our own to starve! This is why Empire 88 is standing, and why we will not allow the corrupt government to beat us down! And yet they call us_ Nazis _. Well, Hitler revitalized his country in a matter of years from a depression like few the world has ever seen, even as_ this _country floundered in liberal policies which did nothing to alleviate its own_ _crisis! We are its best chance at a return to America’s former glory! We—_ ”

There was a bellow, and then the radio went silent. I froze for the barest instant, and then, heart hammering, acted.

“Contact Console,” I ordered Browbeat. “I’ll keep listening in case she just phased. Get ready to move.”

He nodded, already working on his radio. “Console,” he said quickly. “We lost contact with Shadow Stalker. She—”

“I’m all right,” Sophia said, her voice cutting in over the console radio channel. “I’m fine. They’re moving, though. There’s a _lot_ of capes here.”

“Fall back,” I told her. “Get back to us.”

“Already on it,” she said, and her radio disconnected again.

“Support is on the way,” said Clockblocker. “Be careful. Piggot has given the call for broken stealth—the PRT is coming in hot.”

“Understood,” I said. “Where should we rendezvous?”

“Marston and Lockwood,” Clockblocker said. “You know where that is?”

“I do,” said Browbeat.

“Lead the way, then,” I said. “Carefully.”


	60. Blaze 7.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.  
> Many thanks to @IAmARobot and @themanwhowas for assistance with power generation.

Gunfire broke the silence of the streets. The Empire goons had surged forth, and the PRT had met them.

I doubted it was open battle. Neither side wanted that. But I couldn’t tell—not from these dark side-streets, where the only sign of combat was the echoing, drumming crack of gunfire, and the audible undercurrent of shouting human voices.

“Empire runners, headed right for you,” Sophia’s voice came from my radio. “Four of them, one gun. Rifle.”

I glanced at Browbeat. “We can take them.”

He nodded. His jaw, visible through his mask, was a hard line. “Yeah.” He looked at me. “Uh, do you mind if I…?”

“Not at all,” I said. “I’ll watch your back.”

What little I could see of his face looked grateful. “Thanks.”

I fell back, away from the sound of gunfire, and unslung Belthronding as Browbeat strode forward, cracking his knuckles. His hands came down to his sides, and his fists were clenched.

Four men rounded the corner. One was carrying, as Sophia had warned, a rifle. Two of the others had combat knives, and the last had what looked like a police baton. Their heads were shaved, and their arms were bare, proudly displaying a latticework of ink.

The man with the gun shouted as he saw us. “Wards! Look out!”

He raised his gun and fired at Browbeat. The bullets skittered uselessly against bone plates with a painful screech, like nails on a chalkboard, and my teammate’s stone-hard flesh was left unmarked. Browbeat started to run, his feet leaving minute cracks in the asphalt as he rolled forward like a tank.

The Empire men brandished their weapons, but Browbeat was implacable. He bowled them over like a ball through pins. One he caught with a punch that sent him careening into the wall. He delivered an elbow to the gut of another, sending him sprawling, coughing and gasping for air.

One of the men slashed wildly at him with his knife. The blade cut cleanly through the fabric of his costume over his chest, but was stopped dead before it could break the skin, as though by a barrier. Browbeat took his hand and crushed it in one of his own until the man was howling, the knife dropping from broken fingers. He tossed this man aside, then, and dispatched the last one with a kick to the shin that broke bone.

I watched him for a moment as he stood amid the gasping, groaning bodies. He was breathing heavily, and I knew it wasn’t from exertion. Browbeat had faced an Endbringer less than a week ago. This was no great task in comparison.

I jogged up to him. He didn’t turn, though I knew he heard my approach. I laid a hand on his shoulder when I reached him. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer for a moment. “Fine,” he said at length. “Just dealing with some demons.” He looked at me. “Do we just leave them here, or call it in?”

“Both,” I said. “We’ll call it in while we move. I doubt the PRT has time to pick them up. I’ll make the call, you lead the way.”

He nodded and turned, leading us down the road. I pulled out my radio.

“This is Annatar,” I said. “Browbeat and I just disabled some Empire recruits near the Blackwing-Vital intersection.”

“ _Got it,_ ” Clockblocker replied. “ _We’ll send PRT to pick them up later, if they’re still there._ ”

The sound grew louder as we grew closer. Only a few weeks ago, gunfire would have been deafening to me. Terrifying. Now it was practically familiar, and running _towards_ it seemed perfectly natural. It didn’t take us long to arrive.

“Annatar! Browbeat!” Aegis’ voice was hoarse as he shouted over the sound of gunfire and the crackle of containment foam expanding. He was taking cover behind a minivan that had seen better days. The paint had been chipped even before Leviathan, and the tidal waves had left it rusting and water-damaged. The bullets had done nothing to help any of this.

I dove out of the cover of a wall and ran behind the van with him. A bullet pinged off of my pauldron while I was exposed, but I was otherwise unscathed. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“Kaiser and his inner circle are already on their way out,” he replied. “Headed south. Velocity and Vista are trying to locate their getaway car. This is just their rear guard. Where’s Shadow Stalker?”

“On the roof,” I answered. I had to almost shout to be heard over the cacophony. “She can join the scouting team, and I can try to figure out what I can with Vilya.”

Aegis nodded. “Do it!” He made as if to say more, but was interrupted by an explosion down the street. He cut himself off with an oath. “Shit, they’re using grenades!”

“You and I can handle that,” said Browbeat. “The PRT troops can’t.”

Aegis nodded. “Come on, let’s go shake things up. Annatar, figure out what you can, and send Shadow Stalker to join the others.”

I nodded. “Good luck!”

He grinned. “Don’t need luck,” he said. “Got the Sun on my finger.”

He stood up, vaulted over the van, and was off into the fray without landing, flying straight into the Empire line with a shout. Browbeat followed.

I hunkered down and spoke into my radio. “Shadow Stalker, Vista and Velocity are looking for Kaiser’s getaway car,” I said. “Most of the Empire’s capes should be there. Go help them find it.”

“On it. Sure you don’t need help here?”

“I’m doing the same as you,” I said. “In my way.”

I closed my eyes for the second time that night and reached out with Vilya. _A direction,_ I pleaded. _Just a direction. Where will I find my enemies?_

_South._

I knew I could follow Vilya’s guidance. It would lead me where I needed to go, so long as I didn’t stop listening. I raised my radio. “This is Annatar. I think I can find Kaiser, but I don’t have mover powers anymore.”

“Console here.” Clockblocker’s voice was harried. “Vista, double back and pick up Annatar. Follow her lead.”

“On my way.”

Well, now there was nothing to do but wait. No reason I couldn’t help in the meantime. I rose, nocked a tranquilizer arrow to Belthronding, and ducked out of cover, firing at an Empire goon who was peeking out from an alley. My arrow caught him in the chest and he went down.

I ducked back as I drew another arrow out of my quiver. _One down, too many to go._ I glanced out again, shot again. A miss, this time, as the man fell back into cover just as I loosed the shot.

“Annatar, let’s move.” It was Vista, beside me—and yet, also, several blocks down the street. I took a step towards her, and traversed a couple hundred yards.

“Where do we go?” she asked.

“South, for now,” I said, my voice slightly absent. Most of my focus was on the Ring on my finger. “I’ll give us directions as I get them.”

She nodded, and space twisted around us. I followed her through folded space, down several streets.

“Left here,” I said, Vilya having altered its instruction.

“How far?”

“…Three blocks?”

She nodded, and moved, her hands twisting in the air like a dancer’s. Space shifted again, and suddenly the three blocks to the left of us were about two steps worth of distance.

I took those two steps, and immediately ducked behind a dumpster. “They’ll be passing any second!” I told her.

She nodded, joining me and pulling out her radio. “This is Vista. We’ve found them. Converge on my position. Annatar, can you—”

I was already pulling out Belthronding again. “Of course.”

There was the car. I understood at once why it had been hard to find. The vehicle might have been an expensive-looking limousine, but it was also modified with tinkertech, and nearly invisible. I could only see it by the faint distortion in the air as it sped down the road.

I nocked an explosive arrow, ducked out of cover, and fired at one of the tires. What with the invisibility, I missed my target, but the arrow burst in a fiery blossom underneath the car anyway, sending it spinning out of control.

It skidded to a stop, its tinkertech cloak flickering and going out. As it did, a wavering shadow of the car, like a holographic silhouette, seemed to bloom forth and expand, swelling out of the vehicle itself to twice the size and then popping like a soap bubble. It hurt to look at, like staring into an intricate optical puzzle.

The limousine was sleek in parts, as might have been expected, but in others marred by jutting modifications and additions made by some tinker. A veritable column of machinery rose from the hood like a souped-up hotrod, and the roof of the car was lined with antennae and blocks of intricate machinery.

For a moment the street was still, despite the gunfire still echoing. Then one of the doors opened, and out stepped a familiar figure. Kaiser’s armor was almost as bright as mine. The steel was impeccably clean, and—though Kaiser had likely only created it a few hours ago—seemed to have been polished to a glowing sheen. His visor stared me down.

“Annatar,” he said. “I might have known.”

Other doors were opening now. Other capes I recognized were leaving the car. Hookwolf, bare-chested and muscular, with the faintest hint of metallic blades beginning to poke out through his skin; Krieg, his knockoff S.S. uniform impeccable. Purity, her eyes and hair already glowing like a star; and Alabaster, his bone-white skin seeming almost ethereal in Purity’s luminescence.

Just me and Vista against what looked like half of the Empire’s capes, with more inside the car, if I wasn’t mistaken. I didn’t like those odds.

But I’d take them, if I had to.

“It ends here, Kaiser,” I said. “Surrender.”

“Surrender? Now? To a little girl?”

Belthronding returned to its place over my shoulder, and I laid a hand on the haft of the small blade sheathed behind the small of my back. I pulled it out, flipped it in my hand so the blade was up, and flexed my fingers just so.

The haft Kid Win had built for me expanded in my hand, and Iphannis was suddenly upright and at its full, nine-foot height beside me. The blue light of the blade glinted off Kaiser’s armor, setting the whole street around us aglitter.

“‘Little girl?’ Is that the best you can do?” I asked dryly.

“No,” he replied with a chuckle. “No, it is certainly not the best I can do, _Miss Hebert_.”

I didn’t move. No muscle in my body tensed, even as I heard Vista gasp beside me.

I could hear the smile in Kaiser’s voice. “Ah, now you understand. Leverage, Annatar, is far better than any amount of charisma.”

Another of the doors, on the opposite side of the car, was opening. I ignored it, ignored all the other Empire capes. My eyes were fixed on Kaiser.

I needed to decide on an approach, and fast. I could attack, and would if necessary, but Vista and I were alone as far as I could tell, though I was sure the others were coming. Sophia might be in position, and Velocity could arrive quickly, but that still wasn’t anything like enough to even the scales. I could try to threaten him back. Could I out-escalate him? Make him back down from the implied threat against my dad? Or could I play dumb? How good was his source? How had he found out?

I cast my mind to Kaiser’s history. How had he interacted with unmaskings, in the past? It had to have come up.

…It had. Fleur—Amy’s, what, aunt? She had been killed in her civilian identity, by an E88 goon. Kaiser had disavowed the attack. I didn’t know all the details, but I could extrapolate enough.

I couldn’t fight and expect to win, and I didn’t want to risk escalating… but I could stall for backup, even if, with Vista here, I wasn’t at all sure the others would arrive in time to help.

“You don’t want to do this,” I said. “Unmasking someone? How well did that go for you last time?”

“Typical,” said a girl’s voice suddenly. “Trying to deflect, to turn attention away.”

I glanced at the open door, and at the girl standing up from behind it. Her face was hidden behind a blank red mask with no visible holes for her eyes or mouth. Instead, it had only a single eye in the center of her forehead. She wore long, flowing robes in ornate red and gold.

“I wonder how well you’d deal with someone taking that close a look at you,” she said, tucking a lock of vibrant red hair behind her ear with her left hand.

“Oracle,” said Kaiser, almost soothingly. “Now is not the time.” He looked back at me. “We need not be enemies.”

I bared my teeth. “You do _remember_ what happened to the last villain who hurt my family?”

“I’m afraid I agree with her, Kaiser,” said Oracle. “We can’t work with her. At least as long as she’s fucking that lesbian ni—”

Oracle cut herself off, seemingly choking on the word, as though it didn’t come naturally to her. I turned my gaze upon her. “You’re new to this,” I said. “Come on, Oracle—you know this is _wrong_ , I can tell. You know it’s _stupid_. You know you can do so much better—”

She laughed—a harsh, dark, thundercloud of a laugh. “You’re one to talk,” she said. “Bit hypocritical of you, to say that _I_ can do better. Then again, I guess you’d be familiar with hypocrisy, wouldn’t you, _Ring-Maker_?”

I found myself taking a step back. _Hypocritical._ The word rang in my skull oddly. I forced myself to stop. “I’m at least using my powers to help this city,” I growled. “I’m trying to _heal_ it!”

“No,” she shook her head. “You’re trying to _fix_. To get tools you can _use_. You really can’t pretend you have the moral high ground on this one, not when you only think of how useful someone will be before helping them. Hell, you’ve mastered your entire team!”

My eyes burned like fire. “How _dare_ you?” I thundered. “You think you can _lie to my face_ —”

“Oh, sure you can’t control them.” Her voice was a cruel hiss. “ _Yet_. We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we? I wonder, Annatar— _Taylor_ —what will it take to break _you_?”

“Got it!” The young man’s voice came from the other side of the vehicle, near the hood. In that moment, I realized my folly. I reached for Belthronding, but Kaiser was already moving.

A wall of barbed metal rose up between me and the car, blocking my vision. A crossbow bolt pinged off of it uselessly, as did my first arrow.

I heard scrambling, and then the car’s engine started—a roar which rapidly dulled to a low, barely-audible thrumming.

“Vista!” I shouted.

“I can’t see it!” she growled furiously. I saw her gesturing, and saw the wall beginning to shorten as she compressed the very space it filled.

In a moment, however, the car emerged from behind the wall. And yet it was altered. It shimmered, wavering slightly, as if it was interposed with several images of itself, all placed into my vision, one after the other, into almost the same place, but different enough that the edges were fuzzy and indistinct. Vista reached out, and the road ahead began to stretch.

The car, however, _separated_. Three separate images of the vehicle, each wavering like an indistinct mirage, sped in different directions. One turned left, one right, and one carried on into Vista’s lengthened space, speeding up right into the stretching area. As it entered, it stretched with the space, expanding sideways like an elastic band until, suddenly, it snapped out of existence, stretched to the breaking point.

“Fuck!” Vista exclaimed. We ran to the intersection. Two limousines, barely visible against the night, were speeding in two different directions. As I watched, they each split yet again, going once more in every direction down the next intersections in their path.

For a moment, Vista stretched out her hands to either side, as though to hold back two roads at once. Then she sighed, and released her hold on space. I couldn’t hear the engine, and the cars split apart down side streets one last time and were gone. We had lost them.

“Fuck,” she said again. “I can’t close off that many streets at the same time.”

“Did anyone get a tracker on that?” I asked into the radio.

“ _Negative,_ ” came Kid Win’s voice over the radio. “ _I tried, but they spent a lot on that car. My bugs fizzled once they were on it._ ”

“Can we get Vilya to find them again?” Vista asked me.

“Maybe?” I said. “Vilya doesn’t really work like that, but I might--”

“ _That’s a negative,_ ” said Clockblocker. “ _You’re outnumbered and they could be anywhere, now._ ”

“What about Velocity?” Vista asked. “Can he catch up to them?”

“ _He followed the wrong car,_ ” Clockblocker replied. “ _The thing just disappeared. Sorry, Annatar. We lost them this time._ ”

I closed my eyes.

“Annatar?” It was Sophia—and her voice came, not from the radio, but from right beside me. She looked almost worried, as if she saw something in my face that concerned her. “Are you okay?”

I swallowed, looking after the vanished car. My hands were clenched into fists, and I sighed, forcing myself to relax. My anger cooled from a raging inferno to a smouldering ember, but did not go out. “Yes, I am,” I replied.


	61. From the Journal of Annatar 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

_Thursday, May 26_ _ th _ _, 2011_

_I find myself returning here once more. I am… affected, I find. Undeniably so._

_Oracle. The very name makes my blood boil. How dare she take a name that should imply truth and wisdom, yet spout such blatant, poisonous lies? May she choke on her forked tongue._

_And yet I cannot put her words out of my mind. They linger, like the seed of some vile parasite, ready to sprout at the slightest sign of frailty and feed on me until I am drained of life. Her words were false, and yet she spoke with such conviction._

_Why? When she called me ‘hypocrite’—how could that ring true? When she said that I had enslaved my teammates, my dear friends—why can I not convince myself that she was lying, rather than merely wrong?_

_I know I have not mastered the other Wards. I will not be convinced otherwise. I know my own powers, I know my Rings, and I know the Seven. I do not—cannot—control them. And I will never be able to, for as long as the Sun still rises over this eastern shore._

_And yet, unless I sorely misjudge her, her power grants insight. So how can she believe these things? What can I draw from this? What can I learn?_

_I know that this introspection, this self-questioning, this damnable uncertainty is exactly what Oracle intended. I know that her whole purpose was to shake me, to affect me. Even so, I cannot deny she has succeeded—and, like a moth drawn to flame, I cannot help myself. I must seek to understand why._

_To my credit, I have been patient. I have waited until the stakes are lower, until I returned home, where no one depended upon me to be the unyielding warrior I have become. Now at last I am here, sitting at my desk, pen in hand, and I can wait no longer. As it was after Leviathan’s attack, so it is now: I must understand today before the morrow comes._

_And yet, is not self-knowledge a good thing? Should I not thank Oracle, despite her lies and malice, for giving me this opportunity? It is an opportunity for growth, after all._

_Enough jest. Hypocrisy: how does it apply to me, if at all? If I assume Oracle is not merely deluded, what can I learn from this?_

_As if by providence, an example makes itself apparent. I was beset, before the forging of the Three, by three primary tormentors: Madison, Sophia, and Emma. And I have not treated each of them in the same way._

_I can scarcely remember Madison’s face. The image in my mind is hazy, barely visible. She, I have ignored. She has no part in my life any longer. And this is entirely right. I desire no retribution, though I hope she learns the error of her ways—for her sake, and the sake of any future victims. I see nothing I might gain by her penitence._

_Sophia, of course, I extended a hand to. I cannot easily think of any better decision I have made. Sophia is dear to me, now. She is loyal, steadfast, supportive—in short, everything I could hope for in a friend, and everything Emma was not._

_But to Emma I was less kind. Emma attacked me—cruelly, viciously—and I retaliated in kind. It does not escape me that I was also instrumental in Sophia’s rejection of her, several weeks later. Where to Sophia I have extended a hand, to Emma I was nothing so much as a Montresor._ Nemo me impune lacessit _._

_What was the key difference between these two? Was it mere whimsy? Caprice, that made me help and teach one broken soul, and leave another to rot? Was it timing? Did Sophia come into my life as Annatar at the right time for me to seek to help her, and Emma at the wrong one?_

_No. It was indeed utility, as Oracle said, and I know that perfectly well. I can use heroes. Sophia represented a tool which I could turn to my advantage. A hero on the streets, whom I could use to better my city. Emma, on the other hand, was a small girl in a small school, with small ambitions, desires, scale. She was useless to me, and so there was no purpose in helping her._

_And yet I refuse to believe that I **ought** to have forgiven Emma—or Sophia, or Madison, for that matter. After all they did to me—after the eighteen months of hell, after destroying any hope I may have had for the future, after crushing the light out of my world, I refuse to believe that it was my responsibility to forgive them. The saint may turn the other cheek, but failing to do so cannot of itself make one a sinner. There surely must be a grey area, or God is truly cruel._

_But I mean to be a hero. To do more than the bare minimum. To go above and beyond._

_This is the task I set for myself. The objective is to protect the innocent, not to punish the guilty. I do not feel that I acted unjustly with Emma, but justice, while noble, is not the ideal to which I aspire. Justice is a punisher of the guilty. I sought to be a defender of the innocent._

_Have I lost sight of this? I killed Bakuda, and she deserved it. I cast off Emma, and she deserved it. I do not feel guilty over either of these things. But do I not fixate upon them more than I ought? I am no judge, no executioner. I am a hero, and the punishment of the deserving ought not to be my primary concern._

_And punishment comes at a cost. Oracle knows me. She hates me not as Annatar, but as Taylor Hebert. And I cannot imagine why, except for what I did to Emma. Justice or not, I have created a powerful enemy._

_I feel no need to hate her in the same way. I am certain, if Oracle would side with Emma against me, that she has long since done me wrong. That she, too, would deserve my justice. And yet I feel no need to lift her mask, nor even much curiosity as to what I would find there. It feels almost irrelevant, trivial now. Instead I will hate only Oracle, the silver-tongued supervillain who has placed my father into danger._

_Kaiser knows my identity. By extension, he knows my father’s. Oracle—for I am certain it was she who told Kaiser my name—has placed him in incredible danger. Kaiser may have been against the murder of Fleur, years ago, but things have changed, and so has he. If nothing else, his taunts tonight, his flagrant use of my civilian name, makes that abundantly clear._

_I love my father. I may not be with him as often as I would like, I may not embrace him as often as I should, but I do love him dearly. To lose him would be devastating. And yet to betray those ideals for which I stand would be no less so._

_What will I do, should it come to a crossroads? What will I do, should it prove necessary to weigh my father’s life and happiness in one hand, and my identity, my very soul, in the other? What will I do if I am forced to choose? I never dreamed that such a choice would ever come before me, not in my darkest nightmares, and yet here it is._

_Kaiser, you have made an enemy today. Take comfort: I do not think we shall remain enemies for very long._


	62. Interlude 7a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.  
> Many thanks to @themanwhowas for the character of Auxiliary.

Rune leaned back in her cushioned seat as the limousine sped down the road. Her robe, already uncomfortably hot on this warm night, was positively drenched with sweat. Her hands were shaking where they rested on her knees.

“Rune, relax,” said Oracle. “We had that.”

Rune swallowed. “You just _baited_ the cape who faced down an _Endbringer_ ,” she said. Her voice was about an octave higher than normal.

“Careful, Rune,” growled Hookwolf from the row in front of her and Oracle. “Your hero-worship is showing.”

“I don’t—”

“There’s no call for that sort of behavior, Hookwolf.” Kaiser’s voice was smooth and unruffled from his seat beside Purity two rows ahead of Rune. He turned back to them, his armor glinting like silver in the light from the streetlamps outside and the dashboard in front. “Annatar is a dangerous parahuman, Rune, there’s no question about that. But the longer she goes unchecked, _the more dangerous she grows_.”

“And the more powerful she gets,” said Oracle grimly, “the more she’ll abuse that power. We have to stop her.” She huffed a derisive laugh. “After all, it’s not as though the fucking _heroes_ will.”

Rune glanced at her newest teammate. Oracle was a strange one. _She’d_ sought _them_ out, shortly after Leviathan. In general, if a cape didn’t trigger from inside the E88 rank and file, they were instead slowly brought into the fold and deliberately recruited.

It was what had happened to Rune herself, after all.

A thought occurred to her. “Is Annatar really mastering all her teammates?” she asked.

Oracle raised a hand and shifted it from side to side in a “so-so” gesture. “Sort of. My power’s pretty clear that there’s _something_ planted in them, and it shows up like a master effect would—but it doesn’t seem to be feeding obedience into them.” She shook her head. “I could be wrong, though. They’re all really hard to read. Too many variables, too much input from those Rings.”

“I remember when they said telepaths weren’t a thing,” said Alabaster dryly. “Those were the days…”

“I’m not a telepath,” Oracle said. “Be a _lot_ easier if I were a telepath.”

“Close enough,” Alabaster grumbled. “Thinker, with a master 0 rating, right? That’s what you decided. That’s _spooky_.”

“Says the guy who was _this_ close to naming himself Schrödinger’s Zombie,” said Othala caustically.

“That’s totally different,” said Alabaster, and even though he was facing away from her, Rune could hear the smirk in his voice.

“My friends, please,” Kaiser said, his tone patronizing, as if he were speaking to children rather than colleagues. “Let’s not fight amongst ourselves. We have far more pressing matters. First, we must all thank Auxiliary for his quick work on the car. Very well done.”

“Yes, you did vell,” Krieg agreed, his words stilted by his false German accent. Rune could barely keep herself from rolling her eyes.

The young man sitting in the driver’s seat didn’t visibly react to the praise. “It is just the job,” he said, his crisp voice perfectly unruffled. The hint of a genuine German accent only made Krieg’s sound sillier. “Be a poor tinker if I couldn’t keep a car running.”

“Well, you certainly went above and beyond the call of duty today,” Kaiser said magnanimously. “Second, we’ll be arriving at the Medhall building shortly. Do any of you need transportation from there?”

Oracle raised a hand. “If it’s all right with you, sir,” she said, “I’d like to stay at the building for a couple of hours, to deflect my parents’ suspicion. They’re not expecting me back for a couple more hours. If they hear that my ‘internship’s’ function was cut short on the same night as a raid on Empire…”

“Surely you could just tell them it was held in that part of town,” said Krieg. “That the function was canceled because of the raid.”

Oracle shook her head. “My dad’s a lawyer,” she said. “He’d try to sue for leaving me to fend for myself in the middle of a PRT raid. No one wants that.”

“I suggest,” said Kaiser, a languid smile in his voice, “that we trust the psychic when she says what we should and shouldn’t tell her father.”

“Not a psychic,” said Oracle, looking down.

“Rune,” Kaiser said, glancing back at her. “Do you think you could keep Oracle company, for at least part of the time she has to stay at the building?”

Rune swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you,” said Oracle, with a perfectly even voice, and Rune wondered what the girl’s power had said about _her_.

* * *

 

“So, Rune.”

Rune glanced up from her newspaper. Oracle was sitting across the coffee table from her, in one of the Medhall Building’s private lounges. The other girl still had her mask on, but her robe had been taken off and neatly folded on the chair beside her. She was wearing a green blouse which brought out the vibrant color of her hair, alongside simple blue jeans.

Rune was jealous. She didn’t think she’d _ever_ be able to make clothes that simple look that good.

Oracle set down her mug of spiced cider. Rune felt her eyes roving over her, studying her like a bug pinned in a display.

Suddenly, Rune realized Oracle was waiting for a response. “Yeah?”

“What brought you to Empire?” Oracle asked.

Rune narrowed her eyes. “Bit of a personal question.”

“You don’t have to answer,” said Oracle quickly. “I’m just curious.”

This was the problem with _fucking psychics_. Thinkers in general. Rune always felt like she was in a game of high-stakes poker, and she was _terrible_ at poker. She never knew whether Oracle was being honest, or whether it was a careful lie, designed to manipulate.

But she’d be working with Oracle for the foreseeable future. It wouldn’t help to be rude. Putting herself out there was a risk, yeah, but she’d stay on guard. And it wasn’t as though Oracle was a _powerful_ master.

“I’m related to the Herrens,” she said finally. “You know, Othala’s extended family? My parents split from the clan, but I got back in. Got sent to juvie for shit in school, got my powers there. Joined up once I broke out.”

Oracle was watching her like that again—that piercing, roving look. Rune shuddered, and was about to open her mouth when Oracle looked away.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know that makes you uncomfortable. It’s just—it’s hard to help myself.”

Rune gritted her teeth. “Mind telling me what’s in my tarots, psychic?”

“I’m not a psychic.” Oracle seemed to be shrinking into herself, curling up a little, withdrawing like a turtle into her shell.

Rune looked away, fighting the queasy feeling in her stomach. For a time, there was silence.

“Do you believe in it?” Oracle asked at length.

Rune glanced back. Oracle was carefully not looking at her. Her back was still bent over her cider, still curled. Her red hair fell around her mask like a curtain.

“In what?” Rune asked.

“ _It_. The—the racism, the nationalism. The _Nazi_ thing.”

“Yes. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Oracle visibly struggled with herself for a moment, and then at last brought her hands up and cupped them over her face. “Okay,” she said. “I believe you.”

It _hurt_ to watch. “Fuck,” Rune swore. “Okay, then, I _don’t_ believe it! Just calm down!”

Oracle shook her head spasmodically. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Now it’s even harder.”

Rune blinked. “What?”

Oracle’s hands were still covering her mask. “When I look at someone,” she said, “I can see the reason why they’re doing whatever they’re doing right then. The deeper I go, the more I get—but I can only do it with line of sight. Please—don’t tempt me to look if you don’t have to. I know you hate it when I do.”

Rune grimaced. Drawn inward, curled up as she was, Oracle looked like nothing so much as a kicked puppy.

“Does it… hurt?” she asked. “To not use your powers?”

Oracle shook her head. “No, it’s just…” she trailed off. Swallowed. “Well. You triggered, too.”

Rune found herself wincing. “If—if you don’t mind—”

“My best friend threatened to—to hurt me.” Oracle murmured. “Really badly. I don’t—I _didn’t_ know why. I had no idea. There were no hints, no signs, and then suddenly she was just— _gone_.”

“That sucks.”

Oracle snorted. “It doesn’t sound as bad as some, does it?” she asked roughly. “Here I am, surrounded by people who triggered because of rape, or because someone died, or things I can’t even _imagine_ , and I’m bitching because my friend betrayed me.”

“Betrayal’s a bitch,” said Rune firmly. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

Oracle flinched. “Yeah,” she murmured, hands still covering her face. “Yeah, it is.”

Rune considered her. “But what does that have to do with—”

“I didn’t understand her,” Oracle said lowly, her voice frail over the words, “and it cost me. It’s—it’s scary, not to understand.”

_Oh._

“I’m sorry,” Rune said.

“It’s okay,” said Oracle. Her face was still covered.

 _She’s fucking trying, dammit,_ Rune told herself. _She’s trying so damn hard to win you over. Hell, if she’s lying, she’s a better fucking liar than_ Kaiser _. Get over yourself for just one minute and_ help _the poor girl!_

“You can—” Rune hesitated. “You can stop covering your face. If you want.”

Oracle tensed, and didn’t move. “Are you—are you sure? I don’t want to—”

“Yes,” said Rune quickly, before she could change her mind. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Slowly, Oracle pulled her hands away, and looked up at her. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. I—”

“It’s fine.”

Oracle swallowed. “Anyway,” she said, shaking herself. “Yes. _Do_ you really believe all of it?”

Rune grimaced. “Yes? I don’t know. It’s a lot to believe.” She considered the girl across from her. “Do you? Know whether I—”

“Yes,” said Oracle curtly.

Rune waited.

“You have to ask,” said Oracle quietly. “I’m not fucking _Annatar_. I’m not going to tell you something about yourself if you don’t want to hear it.”

Rune frowned. “What does Annatar…?”

“How do you think Kaiser heard her identity?” Oracle asked. “I told him.”

Rune’s eyes widened. “ _You_ unmasked her?”

“She’s _dangerous_ ,” Oracle growled. Rune flinched, shocked by the venom in her words. “She’s like me—only about a hundred times worse. And she won’t let you hide, if you want to. She’ll take you by the hair and force you face to face with the ugliest parts of yourself, and then leave you to _rot_.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Worse.” Suddenly, Oracle was looking away. “And it’s my fault. I _know_ it’s my fault. I knew her, you know?”

“That’s how you knew her identity?”

“Yeah.” Oracle was bent, curled inward again. “I… I caused her trigger.”

Rune blinked. Her mouth very nearly dropped open. “You fucking _what_?

“Yeah, I know. It was… stupid isn’t the right word. _Evil_ , more like.”

“Well, yeah!” Rune stared at the other girl, askance. “ _You_ know what it’s like to trigger! How the fuck could you do that to someone else?”

“I didn’t know, then—”

“That’s no fucking excuse! You don’t _do_ that kind of thing to another person!”

_“This is it for you, Nazi bitch,” the black boy snarled at her as he raised the cinderblock one last time. She tried to blink the blood out of her eyes. “When you get to hell, say hi to Hitler for me!”_

“I know!” Oracle’s voice, ragged with grief and shame, broke Rune out of her reverie. “I know. I was a monster. And I _created_ a monster so much worse than I could ever be.” She swallowed. “I just wish… I wish she hadn’t done all this. I wish I could get her back, could apologize. But now she has, and I have to try and stop her.”

“And that’s why you joined up?” Rune asked. “To fix what you broke?”

“Yeah. Kaiser’s the only one who has enough power and capes to fight her. It’s my fault—I _have_ to set it right.”

“Well,” Rune said, finding herself lost for words.

Oracle was peering at her, she was sure, through the hidden fabric-covered holes in that mask. “I was stupid,” she said. “I was a broken little kid with my own share of trauma. It doesn’t make it okay—I _know_ it doesn’t make it okay, nothing can—but I’m _trying_ to make it right. I’m doing what I can, even if it’s never going to be enough.”

Rune grimaced. She’d never been good at hating or even staying angry at the pathetic. The crude, the dangerous, and the disgusting, yes—but if she had a weakness, it was pity. “I guess I can understand that,” she said quietly.

“I… I appreciate it, anyway.” Oracle shook her head. “If you want to know about yourself, ask. I’ll never tell otherwise.”

Rune pursed her lips. “You _know_ how tempting it is, right?”

“Yeah,” Oracle said ruefully. “But—it’s better to _have_ the choice, isn’t it?” She sighed. “I really _hate_ my powers, you know? Like, they’re incredibly useful, incredibly powerful—but I never wanted this. I never wanted to see that my dad is a broken man holding himself together by clinging to his wealth. I never wanted to see that the only reason my mom hasn’t divorced him is because of me. I never wanted to see that my sister literally hates both of my parents— _really_ hates, like ‘has considered patricide’ sort of hate. And I’m _not_ going to put anyone else through that unless they ask me to.”

“You did it to Annatar,” Rune pointed out.

“ _That_ ,” Oracle hissed, “was different. Annatar is a _monster_. She’s powerful, dangerous, and she’s willing to hurt _anyone_ who gets in her way. It was damn time she got a taste of her own medicine.”

Rune raised an eyebrow. This girl certainly seemed vitriolic, for someone who blamed _herself_ for all of this. All she said aloud, however, was, “She didn’t seem that bad during the Endbringer fight.”

“No?” Oracle shook her head. “She’s charismatic. You should have seen what I saw when I looked at the other Wards. They’re _devoted_ to her. She’s willing to say anything she needs to, to get in people’s heads. If she can use them, she tries to make them loyal to her from there. If she can’t….”

Oracle reached up and roughly pulled aside her mask. The pale face looking back at Rune must once have been beautiful, with those high cheekbones and lips that would be full if they were not so thin. Her eyes were large and blue, but lay in sunken pits. She was thin—painfully so, and Rune saw that now, through the bright clothes.

“This is what she does, if she can’t use you,” said Oracle grimly.

“What _did_ she do?” Rune asked.

“Cracked me,” said Oracle with a shudder. “And then sent her lapdog to finish the job. I spent a week in a hospital after my psychotic break. She did that to me because she didn’t think she could _use_ me.”

On some level, Rune almost found herself _pleased_ at the idea. It felt like karmic justice. It felt _right_.

_“What goes around, comes around, you goose-stepping whore!”_

Abruptly, she felt sick. _No one deserves to trigger._ “You got that from reading her?” she asked.

Oracle glanced away. “That much, yes,” she said. “Annatar’s harder to read than anyone else I’ve seen. It’s not that I can’t get into her head—it’s that I get too much. I saw….” She broke off suddenly, shuddering. “Normally, I just get ideas. Concepts. With Annatar, I got words and images. They overwhelmed me, almost made me throw up. Fire, ash, and dust that blocked out the sky… armies of monsters, consuming everything in their way… and her eye above it all, watching, _commanding_ the slaughter and destruction.” She clasped her hands together, and Rune saw that they were trembling.

“So… what? She’s some kind of evil overlord?” Rune asked.

“Not Taylor,” Oracle said quietly. “But Annatar, inside her? Yeah. Something like that. I don’t know what it all meant, but one thing I’m sure of is that the reason she was willing to hurt me and not….” She trailed off. Shook her head tiredly. “Utility,” she said, and sounded exhausted. “I wasn’t _useful_. There was no place for me in her army.”

“Well,” said Rune. “Kaiser clearly thinks you’re plenty useful.” _And if you can really put someone like Annatar off-balance with your powers, I gotta say he’s not wrong._

Oracle grinned weakly up at her. “I’m glad to be of service,” she said, “if it means taking down those bitches.”

“Anyway, I guess if we’re doing the unmasking thing…” Rune reached up and, with a touch of trepidation, lowered her hood.

Her identity really wasn’t that important—she was a wanted fugitive anyway, after her breakout from juvie, so it didn’t really give her much safety. Oracle had a lot more to lose, by giving out hers, and she’d already shown her face. Reciprocating was cheap.

She held out a hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “Janice Rush.”

Oracle blinked at her for a moment, then gave a wan smile and took the offered hand. “Likewise,” she said. “Emma Barnes.”


	63. Blaze 7.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE that Interlude 7a, the previous chapter, has undergone major edits. Consider looking back at it, or checking the changelog on the SpaceBattles thread.

“So,” Piggot said, her hands folded on her desk. Her eyes were hard. “Kaiser knows your identity.”

“Yes,” I said. “Probably through the new cape, Oracle.”

Piggot nodded slowly. “You realize this is one of the worst things that could have happened, don’t you?”

I grimaced. “It’s definitely a mess, but I’m probably missing something. Walk me through it?”

She sighed through gritted teeth. “Okay. He didn’t reveal your identity to the public—just to us. Standard procedure would be to relocate both you and your father through witness protection. Change your identities, down to physical appearance, and put you up in another state with a new cape identity.”

My eyes narrowed. “I’m not leaving this city.” The change of face and name, I could live with. I liked being Taylor, but it was just a name, in the end. Even Annatar was just a name. But Brockton Bay was my city, and I wasn’t about to yield it to Kaiser.

“I’d rather you not,” she agreed. “That’s clearly what Kaiser wanted. You’ve got him nervous, Annatar—not the PRT, not the Protectorate, _you_.”

“And he was willing to break the rules just to get me out of the city?”

Piggot nodded. “It’s the only thing that makes sense to me,” she said. “He’s got to know that escalating like this will bring heat down on him. He revealed your identity in a way that he _knew_ the rest of the PRT would know he’d done it. If he just wanted leverage on you, he’d have done it privately and ordered you to keep it from us. He didn’t. He wants _us_ to force you to move, because that’s protocol. And because he didn’t reveal it to the public at large, he doesn’t want to escalate into an open war. It’s harder for us to escalate if he doesn’t do it first.”

I shook my head slowly. “I knew I’d made enemies after Leviathan, but this is insane. I’m just a Ward.”

“He clearly doesn’t see it that way,” said Piggot in clipped tones.

“Yeah. So what do we do? I’m not letting Kaiser win this.”

“No,” she agreed. “But your father is still at risk. We’ll talk to him tomorrow morning, start talking about getting him into witness protection without you. It means you’ll either be emancipated, or become a functional ward of the state.”

“Would I still be able to call? Visit?”

“Yes,” she said, “but the more often you do, the bigger the security risk. You’ll have to limit it. I don’t know exactly how much. It depends on how secure his false identity is.”

So, either my father risked death by staying, or I would have to distance myself from him to an uncertain degree. I swallowed. “I don’t want to lose my dad, either.” I’d only just gotten him back.

“I know,” she said quietly. “It’s really up to him. He definitely has the right to witness protection… but if he wants to stay, I’ll do my best to accommodate that. We can assign him a protection detail, make sure he’s guarded, at least in the short term. There’s only so much we can do, though.”

“I understand.” I nodded. “Thank you, Director.”

She shook her head. “Don’t thank me yet. Wait until we get through this. It may turn out that sending you both away would have been the smarter call.”

“Even if it is,” I said, “I’d rather it be my call to make, Ma’am.”

Her lips twitched. “I can understand that. Get going, get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

* * *

 

Sophia was breathing heavily, her wooden sword gripped tightly in both hands. She was facing a training dummy made of wood and cloth, and it was already pretty torn up. Shallow, long cuts ran along the surface of the padding, and the exposed wood of the featureless face looked positively battle-scarred.

She was looking away from me as I entered the room. I shut the door quietly behind me. It might have just been a teacher’s instinct, but I wanted to see this.

My patience was rewarded. In a burst of motion, Sophia lashed out with a crushing blow to the dummy’s shoulder, then delivered a thrust into its gut with a wordless cry.

Her form was good, but I found myself rather more concerned with the ragged sound of her voice.

I came forward. She spun as she heard my shoes on the padded floor. “Taylor,” she said, blinking, raising a hand to pull the hair out of her face. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” I said. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she said, idly twirling her blade. “Just thinking about something I have to deal with. What did you want to talk about?”

I grimaced. “Oracle,” I said.

It had been three days since the fight with Empire. Writing in my journal had helped, certainly, but it had also made my course clearer.

Sophia looked away. “What about her?” she asked.

“Something she said got me thinking,” I said. “Sophia, I—I need to apologize.”

She did a double-take, staring at me. “What, to me? What for?”

“When I first made my offer to you,” I said, and found the words didn’t want to come. Every word was _true_ , and each needed to be said, but forcing them out and actually facing up to my problems was harder than I’d expected. “I didn’t—”

How did I do this? I didn’t want to apologize for giving her an opportunity. That wasn’t what I was ashamed of.

I had done the right thing—for all the wrong reasons.

“I wasn’t thinking about you,” I said finally, looking away. “Oracle made me see that, and—and I knew I needed to apologize for it. I was—you were just a _tool_ to me, then. I know I could use you, as long as I could bring you around, and that was all that mattered to me. I don’t feel that way anymore,” I assured her quickly, glancing back at her face. “That’s why I—that’s why I needed to say this. I owe you an apology, for thinking of you like that. I’m sorry.”

She was staring at me, mouth slightly open, and for a moment I found my hands shaking in something like fear. Would she be angry? Worse, would she be _fearful_?

I shook it off. I knew Sophia better than that. I didn’t know exactly what she’d say, but it would take more than this to break the bond between us.

“I….” She hesitated. Sighed. “Please,” she said, and her voice was rough. “Please don’t apologize.”

“I—”

“That day,” she said, interrupting my half-formed protest, “was the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Taylor. I don’t _care_ why you did it. I—” she swallowed. “I’m just grateful to have had the chance at all.”

I smiled. “And I’m glad I could give it to you. I just…” I shook my head. “I’m not apologizing for what I did. I’m apologizing for _why_ I did it. It’s like… you remember the last time I talked to Emma, in Winslow?”

Something flickered in Sophia’s face. “Yeah.”

“I hurt her, when I’d chosen to give you a chance,” I said.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Sophia growled, sudden and fierce, “act like you had a _responsibility_ to forgive _either_ of us. You had every right to get us both tossed in juvie for years. Giving Emma the chance to _keep walking around_ was already a mercy.”

I looked down. “I want to be better than that.”

Sophia barked a single peal of laughter, almost hysterical. “What the fuck kind of standards are you holding yourself to, Taylor? You’re only human. You’ve done more for me—more for _everyone_ —than anyone else in the fucking city. Take pride in that! You damn well deserve it.”

I smiled, shaking my head. “Thanks. I still—” I sighed. “Oracle. If I hadn’t done what I had to Emma, she might not be with Empire now.”

“You have _nothing_ to apologize to Emma for. _I_ was the one who broke her.” Sophia looked pale. “This is _my_ fault, Taylor. And _I_ will set it right.”

“Why must it be you?”

She hesitated. “It’s—” She shook her head. “It’s my responsibility. And I don’t… I can handle this, Taylor. You don’t have to. Please, let me.”

“You don’t need to protect me, Sophia.”

“I’m not protecting you,” she protested. “I just—this is something I want to do myself. If anything, it’s selfish. Please—let me handle this. Oracle is _my_ problem.”

I considered her for a moment. I wasn’t sure she was ready, but I thought it a fitting quest for her regardless. “Okay,” I said. “But—I’m here, if you need help. Be careful. She’s _Empire_ , after all, even if she doesn’t believe in their rhetoric.”

“Are you sure she doesn’t?” Sophia asked, and there was something raw in her voice. “She might have reason.”

I frowned at her, but she turned away, carrying her sword to the rack. “You know who she is,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” she said, without looking at me. “I’m so sorry, Taylor.”

“…And you’re sure you don’t want my help?”

She put her sword away and turned back to me. Her eyes were bright. “Positive,” she said lowly. “Please, Taylor. If I can’t do it, you’ll be the first to know. But I—I have to try.”

It was hard to curb my curiosity. It was harder to curb the sense that I _should_ be part of this—the need to be involved, the need to insert myself into the problem and its resolution. But I owed Sophia that much.

“Okay,” I said. “Good luck.”

She blinked, surprised, and then gave me a smile. “Thanks.”

* * *

 

“So, I’ve got good news and bad news,” said Carlos.

“Please tell me I can do things again,” Brian begged.

We were seated around the coffee table in the Wards’ break room. Carlos had called me in to discuss the patrol schedule for the next week, and Brian was here to hear news from our leader’s recent briefing with Piggot.

“Nailed it.” Carlos grinned. “PRT’s holding a press conference this Monday. You and Amy are going to be announced then.”

“And my identity?”

“Annnnd that’s the bad news,” Carlos said, his face falling. “You can’t keep Grue.”

“I knew _that_ ,” said Brian impatiently. “How bad is it?”

Carlos shrugged noncommittally. “It could be _worse_. You’re, uh, not going to be allowed to use your full-size darkness clouds.”

Brian blinked at him. “You’re fucking joking.”

“Nope.”

Brian turned to me, a pleading look in his eyes. “That’s literally my _entire power_. I thought you wanted someone _useful_ , not a meat shield!”

“This is ridiculous,” I agreed, looking at Carlos. “What do they want him to do instead?”

“They, uh, want to kit you up with tinkertech and call you a brute/shaker.”

Brian groaned. “Am I supposed to even _have_ powers?”

“They want you to keep your clouds close to you,” Carlos said. “Shadow Stalker can synchronize with those, and use you as a delivery mechanism. It’s not ideal, but—”

“It’s dangerously negligent,” I growled.

They both blinked at me.

“I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” Brian began, but Carlos’ eyes were widening.

“Circus,” he said.

I nodded. “Pretending to be a brute almost got me killed,” I said. “No. We’re not putting Brian at risk like that.”

Carlos nodded, looking pale. “Yeah. No, that’s stupid. I’ll talk to Piggot.”

“Does this mean I have to sit with my thumb up my ass for another week?” Brian grumbled. “I’m _bored_. I thought heroes were always understaffed.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” I growled. “Carlos, I’ll come with you to talk to Piggot. This isn’t acceptable.”

Carlos nodded. “All right. We’ll talk to her later.”

The elevator door opened. We turned.

“Annatar, here you are,” said Amy, stepping out of the lift. “Good. Miss Militia told me to find you.”

I stood up. Amy’s brow was furrowed. “What’s up?”

“Police just did a bust, found a few Merchants.” Amy walked over to the coffee machine, took a mug. “Apparently, they’re having a meeting tonight,” she said over her shoulder, as the coffee poured. “Miss Militia wanted me to ask you to find it.”

“She wants us to shut it down?” Carlos asked. “Bit of a risk, isn’t it? We’re spread pretty thin right now, and Empire’s more of a problem.

“It’s an opportunity,” I countered. “With all of their capes in one place? We can shut the Merchants down for good.”

Amy shrugged, turning to face us and leaning against the coffee machine, her mug steaming in her hand. Nenya glittered upon her finger, and I found my eyes drawn to it. There was an ache, deep inside me, where the Ring’s absence was still felt. I was trying to accept it, trying to move on. Amy was a better bearer for it than I could ever be, and she’d _needed_ it more than I ever had. That didn’t make it any easier to acknowledge that the Ring of Water was gone forever—or any easier to see it every day, on a finger that wasn’t mine.

“Annatar?”

I blinked. “Sorry. What?”

Amy studied me, an odd look on her face. Carlos spoke when she didn’t. “Amy was asking if you could find the Merchants’ meeting.”

“Yes,” I said. “I can. But so can she.”

Amy raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You’ve got enhanced senses through Nenya, right?”

Amy nodded slowly. “Yeah. Can’t figure out where they’re _going_ to be, though. I thought you still had Vilya?”

“You could find where they’re setting up the meeting,” I said. “Surely they’ll have started—it’s almost seven.”

Amy stared at me. “I can just sense something happening all the way across the city?”

“I should think so,” I said. “Give it a try. Reach out. _Reveal_ it.”

She closed her eyes. I saw Nenya flare, a star in the dim room.

A few moments passed. Amy’s eyes opened.

“Holy shit,” she muttered. “How are you not in charge of the city already, with powers like these?”

I smiled ruefully. “It works better for you than it did for me.”

She winced. “I’m—sorry.”

“Don’t be. Where are they?”

“Carpenters Shopping Center. Near the docks.” She grimaced. “They’re doing that thing where they light trash cans on fire. It smells _awful_.”

“No wonder they thought they were safe,” Carlos said. “That’s _way_ outside of our patrol range, with things as messy as they are. Are you sure this is a good idea, Annatar?”

I nodded. “We need to take a stand,” I said. “We can’t let them have free reign in our city. The Merchants are degenerative—they bring out the worst in people and in places. We won’t get another opportunity like this anytime soon.”

Carlos nodded. “All right. We’ll give it a try. I’ll call the other Wards in; can you go talk to Miss Militia and Piggot?”

“Sure,” I nodded. “Will we get Protectorate support on this one?”

“If anything, they might not let _us_ come,” said Carlos dryly. “We’ve been doing their jobs too much lately. I doubt they’ll stay behind.”

“Good,” I said. “I’ll go talk to Piggot. I’ll bring up your identity, too, Brian.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I never thought being a hero would be so _boring_.”


	64. Blaze 7.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

“Annatar. Did you find the Merchants?” Piggot’s question came immediately after I opened the door to her office.

“Amy did,” I said. “With Nenya. They’re at Carpenters Shopping Center, setting up now. Who are we sending?”

“Protectorate and Wards,” said Piggot. “Grue’s been through console training, so I’m thinking of keeping him on mission control—with supervision, of course.”

I shrugged. “Seems reasonable. I wanted to talk to you about him, though. Aegis told me about Image’s plans for his identity.”

Piggot smiled thinly. “The brute thing?”

“The brute thing.”

“I’m working on it.”

“You can’t let him be fielded when he’s got that big a target on his back.” My voice was hard. “It’s ridiculous. He’s not a meat shield.”

Piggot nodded. “I agree.”

I blinked. “You do?”

“I don’t want him dead. It’s a waste, if nothing else.” She sighed. “Like I said, I’m working on it. My current plans, if I can’t make progress, is to let the press conference happen as planned, and then refuse to let Grue into the field until they give him more leeway—or at least a cover that won’t get him killed. That’s not ideal, though, and they know that. I have a feeling we’ll get something changed before the conference.”

I considered her, and found myself smiling. “You keep surprising me, Director,” I said.

She grinned mirthlessly. When she spoke, her words were bone-dry. “Glad I have your approval, Annatar. Now get your team together. We’re moving in an hour at most.”

* * *

 

“ _Shadow Stalker, are you in position?_ ” Aegis’ voice came through my earpiece, as clear as if he had been standing beside me.

“ _Yes._ ” Sophia sounded a little nervous, and no wonder. She was alone, just as she had been against the Empire. As our only stranger—at least until Amy learned to use Nenya—she was our only means to infiltrate the meeting and take stock before rushing in.

“ _What do you see?_ ” Brian asked.

There was a pause. “ _More than I ever wanted to._ ” Sophia voice was low with contempt. “ _There’s—ugh. Lot of different things going on. Drugs, sex, loud music. I can already feel a headache coming on._ ”

The Merchants had never been a particularly powerful or significant group. They didn’t appeal to anyone with even a shred of dignity left to them, and half their members were forced in by addiction. It didn’t make for a healthy or large group. After Leviathan, however, with half the city destroyed or crumbling, membership in _every_ gang had gone up as people looked for any help they could get—even if, in the Merchants’ case, it was just enough drugs to forget their problems for a while.

“ _Any sign of Skidmark?_ ” Miss Militia asked.

“ _Not yet. Still working on it._ ”

I drummed gauntleted fingers on my leg, trying to relieve some tension. The waning half-moon reflected off my armor and set the alleyway in which I waited aglow.

Even from here, several blocks away, I could hear the hedonistic celebration. Screams, hysterical laughter, and the thudding of heavy electronic music echoed over the rooftops. It must have been deafening from where Sophia stood, hiding in the rafters of the mall.

_I miss Nenya._

“ _Annatar? You got anything?_ ”

I blinked at Brian’s interruption. “Hm?”

“ _With your precog. You got anything?_ ”

“Let me try.” I closed my eyes and extended my perception.

Using Vilya was often an exercise in frustration. It seldom gave me detailed information. I generally had to try several approaches until I got some glimpse of a future I could use.

I tried to get a location for an upcoming conflict, first, but all I got was a sense of location which encompassed the entire city. _Brockton Bay, the site of a conflict? Who would’ve thought?_

Then I tried to think of the Merchants. Where would they face adversity? All that question gave me was the general direction in which I knew the mall lay.

At last, I thought of Sophia, alone and in the middle of the enemy. Where was the greatest danger to her?

At last, I had something. “Shadow Stalker,” I said. “They’re north of you, and they’re coming your way.”

“ _Shit,_ ” she said. “ _They must be coming through the security office. I’m going to move. I’ll keep you posted._ ”

“ _Okay,_ ” said Miss Militia. “ _Be careful._ ”

There was silence for a few moments. My fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly, rhythmically.

“She’ll be okay,” Kid Win said from beside me.

I nodded. “I know,” I said. “I’m just tense.”

Before he could answer, my earpiece crackled back to life—but it wasn’t Sophia’s voice I heard. “ _You quim-jockeys up for the main event? It doesn’t get any better than this!”_

As the cheers began, Sophia murmured over them. “ _Skidmark, Squealer, Mush, and another cape I don’t recognize. They’ve set up a podium at one end. I think this is all of them._ ”

“ _Then let’s move in,_ ” said Vista. “ _Shut them down._ ”

“Wait a moment,” I said quickly. Vilya was practically screaming in my ears, shining like a blue star. “I have a feeling we want to hear this.”

“ _He’s creating some kind of… ring,_ ” Sophia reported slowly. “ _Using his power. Like a skating rink, or…_ ”

“Or a coliseum,” I finished. “Gr—Console, are you seeing it?”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Brian said. “ _He’s forcing people into an arena of some kind. I don’t like this._ ”

“ _Blood sports?_ ” Miss Militia asked. “ _We can’t allow that to go on, Annatar._ ”

“We won’t need to,” I promised, and knew it was true. “He’s going to talk first. I want to hear what he says.”

Suddenly, Skidmark’s voice cut in again. “ _You scum-suckers know what the red armband means! Bloodshed! Violence! We’ve got ourselves a melee, every man for himself!_ ”

The cheers rose in pitch. I could even hear them through the air around me now, from outside the building and several blocks away. It made me sick.

“ _Last five standing get a prize! No rules! Use a weapon, jump in at the last second, whatever you want! I don’t give a fuck!_ ”

A pause for cheering, and then he continued. “ _Oh, our contestants don’t seem too excited! Well, here, let me tell you dickbags what you stand to win!_ ”

“ _He’s bringing out a box,_ ” said Sophia, as quiet as she could while still being heard over the cheering. “ _What is this, Annatar?_ ”

I didn’t know, but Vilya was practically vibrating. This was _important_.

“ _Some kind of canister,”_ Sophia said.

“ _Before, we gave the winners the cream of the crop! The best our boys have been able to get from the rich fucks with their fancy-ass houses and jobs! But tonight is_ special _, because we won the motherfucking lottery when we found this shit!_ ”

“ _It’s a vial_ ,” said Sophia.

“ _Superpowers!_ ” Skidmark crowed. “ _In a can!_ ”

I froze.

“ _No fucking way,_ ” said Brian.

“ _That’s not possible_ ,” Miss Militia said.

“It’s true,” I said. Vilya would not let me believe otherwise. “And we’re out of time, unless we want to let that fight happen.”

“ _We’re not letting it happen_ ,” said Aegis darkly. “ _We’re shutting this down, and we’re getting those ‘canned powers’ out of his hands. Miss Militia, is the Protectorate in position?_ ”

“ _They are. Wards, move in now!_ ”

I caught Kid Win’s arm and he pulled me up as his hoverboard rose into the night. “Is this real?” he asked me as the wind whipped past us. “Superpowers in a _can_? That’s…”

“It’s horrible,” I said shortly.

He glanced back at me. “…Yeah.”

There was a _boom_ as a wall came down. A cloud of dust rose from the shopping center ahead of us.

“ _Assault has breached the building,_ ” Miss Militia said.

“We’re coming in through the second floor,” said Kid Win, carefully steering his hoverboard. The building was coming up fast. “Preparing to breach.”

I took hold of his shoulders.

In one vertigo-inducing motion, he lifted the nose of the hoverboard up so that it was perpendicular to the ground and pushed forward. The mithril-plated underside burst through a window of the shopping center.

As soon as we were properly inside, I was diving off the hoverboard and rolling, my hand going to my back. Iphannis came out and extended, narrowly missing a shelf.

One guy was blinking at me. There was a pistol in his hand, but it was shaking. His other hand was fiddling with a headset in a display case, and all around him were strewn various cords and computer peripherals. His eyes were glazed, and a faint sheen of sweat coated his face.

“Oh, you can’t be serious,” I said, standing up.

“Hey!” he said, _finally_. “You’re not—”

Iphannis’ haft came up and struck him in the chin, and he was out. “Their security is on drugs,” I said exasperatedly. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

We were in an electronics storefront. Phones, computers, peripherals, and other equipment lined the walls and shelves. One wall was glass, and through it, I could see the crush of bodies and conflict. There were Assault and Battery, fighting their way through the scattering, drugged-up partygoers.

I couldn’t see any of the Merchant capes, though.

“Where is Skidmark?” I asked into my radio. “I can’t see him.”

“ _They went back through the security hub,_ ” Sophia said. “ _I’m following them, but I need backup._ ”

“ _I’m on my way,”_ said Miss Militia immediately.

“So are Kid Win and I,” I said, beckoning him. “Come on.”

He hovered overhead, pistols at the ready, as I jogged along the balcony, ignoring the squealing mess below. I slashed through the lock of a door with Iphannis, and pushed through.

Now I was in the portion of the mall inaccessible to the public. The bright paint and decorations were gone from this hall, in favor of a rather ugly off-white paint job and yellow linoleum floors.

My boots squeaked against the floor as I barreled down the hallway. “Are they outside yet?” I asked into the radio.

“ _Yes,_ ” said Sophia. “ _Headed for Squealer’s truck. I’m engaging._ ”

There was a wall ahead of us. I reached out to Vilya: _Will continuing lead me outside?_

Vilya thrummed an assent upon my finger.

Good enough for me. I clenched my left hand, and the Dominant Ring burned with clear light. I pointed, and lightning burst forth, crashing against the wall ahead of us. It crumbled, drywall bursting outwards in an explosion, and I leapt through the hole, Kid Win hot on my heels.

As I fell the fifteen feet to the asphalt of the parking lot, I distinctly heard Skidmark’s voice screaming, “What the fuck!?”

I landed rolling, came up, and immediately took stock. Sophia was on a roof—I could see her framed against the night sky, crossbows at the ready, firing bolts towards the four Merchants taking cover behind a van. On the other side of that van was a monstrosity of a vehicle, at least ten feet high and seemingly comprised entirely of scrap metal, bolted and welded together haphazardly. Bits of machinery that might have been guns were mounted on the hood.

Skidmark was slowly creating a barrier along the roof of that vehicle. I saw Sophia’s bolts slowing as they passed through it, each one more than the last. Soon, in order to prevent them reaching their ride, she’d have to engage at close range, putting her at a disadvantage.

Of course, that was before I arrived.

“Get the slut, Mush!” Skidmark roared, and Mush surged forward, charging me. His pink-skinned, squat body was enlarged and augmented with bits of garbage and clumps of gravel, which grew around him in a tangled mass of mingled tendrils and blobs.

It was one of the most disgusting things I’d ever seen, barring the locker.

I swung Iphannis once, and severed a tendril of garbage. Then I was forced to dive aside as another long arm struck at the ground where I was standing, pounding the ground with a heavy crash. I spun Iphannis around me, deflecting another strike, and then stabbed the luminous point into his rotund belly. The thrust didn’t dig deep, and I was sure I’d hit nothing more significant than fat, but he screamed. The little bit of pink skin I could see behind the trash and gravel paled around the cut. Frostbite.

He staggered, and I withdrew the spear, spinning it around. A blow to his temple, and he was down.

Then I found myself pushed back by one of Skidmark’s fields. “Whirlygig, you keep her back!” he said. “Squealer, let’s—”

Then he gurgled, took a single step, and fell over. Sophia was there, a tranquilizer bolt at the level of Skidmark’s neck in one hand, the other reaching for a crossbow.

Kid Win was overhead, firing downward with lasers onto the remaining capes. Squealer was just covering her face and cowering in cover while the last remaining cape did her best to defend her.

She was a girl with long hair covering her face, and she was charging Sophia. A windstorm of sand and gravel was whipping around her, and Sophia was forced back to avoid being slashed by the speeding debris. The girl was fast, though, and Sophia was starting to stumble as she was backed up.

Then the girl had to dive aside to avoid a burst of laser fire from above, and I was charging. The lasers were scattered by the sand, though, and beams glanced off my armor. I thrust Iphannis forward, but it was buffeted away by the whirlwind.

Then the girl threw herself at me, and I was forced to dive aside to avoid being shredded.

“This isn’t working!” Sophia hollered over the wind. “Annatar, have you got anything?”

I looked down at Vilya. The answer was probably yes.

I clenched my left fist, and looked up into the whirlwind, bearing down on me. It was widening now--spreading outward, growing thicker and faster. I could barely see the girl on the inside.

Vilya was the Dominant Ring, but more to the point, it was the Ring of Air. I reached out and took the wind into my hands.

I immediately saw that it wasn’t actually wind. The cape was using a telekinetic field, or something, to artificially create the effect. But that was no barrier.

I drew back my hand as if to throw something, and pushed forward. A burst of wind, as strong as a hurricane gust, pushed away the storm. Sand and gravel went flying, breaking free of the girl’s power. I heard her shriek as she was cut up by her own debris.

The dust settled quickly, and she was on the ground, having caught herself with her hands. I stared at the girl, and she stared back, her face hidden under a curtain of tangled black hair. She was bleeding from cuts on her arms and legs. Sand was already starting to rise around her as her whirlwind reasserted itself.

Then a bolt from Sophia’s crossbow hit her in the back of the neck, and her arms flopped bonelessly to the ground, her eyes closing.

Kid Win was already dropping. “I’ve got confoam,” he said quickly. “I’ll start foaming them--you secure Squealer.”

I nodded and turned away, returning to the last Merchant standing. She was sitting hunched, her back to the car, staring at me with a hunted look in her glazed, unfocused eyes.

I stopped in front of her. I wondered what to say. _Sorry we hurt your teammates and shut down your operation?_ I wasn’t. They’d hurt themselves, mostly. I could ask her where the canisters were, but even as the thought occurred I saw them by Skidmark’s prone form, still sealed and whole.

I had nothing to ask, no threats to deliver, and she had nowhere to run. So I said the only thing I could think of.

“You have the right to remain silent.”


	65. Interlude 7b: Missy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

The moment they were safely in the van, on their way back to the PRT building, the floodgates shattered.

“What the _fuck_?” Shadow Stalker said. “Powers in a can?”

“Hard to believe,” Kid Win agreed. “Feels weird to imagine. People getting powers without, well…”

“It’s fucked up,” Vista finished for him. “Triggers are the only common ground we have—and now we don’t even have that?”

“It can’t be real,” said Clockblocker. “It’s gotta be bullshit.”

“It’s real.” Annatar’s voice cut through the hubbub like a knife. They all instantly subsided and looked at her. Her eyes were downcast, staring at the briefcase strapped to the floor of the van.

“Vilya was practically screaming at me to listen to Skidmark,” she continued. “What he was saying was _important_. More important than it could be if it were a lie. It’s real. These vials are….” She trailed off, grimacing like something sour was on her tongue.

Vista swallowed. _Annatar wouldn’t lie to us,_ she told herself. _And she wouldn’t act any more certain about this than she really was. If she’s saying it’s real… then it is. Superpowers in a can._

“I can’t even…” she found herself saying, and then trailing off. She tried again. “It doesn’t… it doesn’t even _compute_.”

“Yeah,” Shadow Stalker agreed. “It doesn’t make sense. Like, powers in _general_ don’t make sense, but triggers are the _one_ thing that I thought was constant. Take that away….”

“I’m not even _ready_ to think about what this means yet. For us, or for everyone,” said Aegis, his fingers drumming nervously on his knee. “Where did these vials _come_ from, is what I want to know. How did the _Merchants_ get them? And are there more?”

“And if there are… who’s used them?” Browbeat asked. “Do _we_ know someone who got their powers from a vial?”

“Yes, you do.”

Vista blinked. Slowly, her head turned to the young man sitting beside her.

Dean was hunched over. His head was almost between his knees as he stared down at his own feet. His forearms rested on his thighs so that his hands hung loose between his knees. His armor rattled faintly, and Vista realized that he was shuddering slightly.

She’d only seen him shake like this once before.

“Gallant?” Aegis’ voice was low.

Dean didn’t move. “Can it wait until we get back to base?” he asked. “I—Amy should hear this too. And Grue, I guess.”

“No way,” breathed Clockblocker. “No fucking way.”

He had taken the words right out of Vista’s mouth—not that she had the breath to speak them. Her lungs felt constricted, her throat tight. Her mouth was working, as though words were trying to be spoken, but none were coming. _Dean?_ Wonderful, kind, _honest_ Dean?

“Please,” she whispered at last. “Tell me I’m wrong, Dean.”

He didn’t answer. The ride was silent after that, and Vista’s only company was the circling, half-formed thoughts in her head.

* * *

 

They huddled together on the semicircle of sofas that surrounded the TV, like campers around a fire. They rarely all gathered here together; normally, this break room was reserved for whoever was off-shift or stationed at the base.

Vista remembered the few times they’d been here together as fond gatherings. The TV would be on, no one paying any attention to it. There would be food, and conversation, and laughter. Chris and Dennis might have played a video game.

This was nothing like that.

Dean stood in front of the blank television screen, his hands clasped behind his back. His armor was on, but his helmet was off. His eyes were red, but his jaw was set.

“Well, Dean?” Aegis prompted.

Dean swallowed. Vista could count on one hand without all her fingers the number of times she’d seen him this afraid. “Several years ago,” he began in a hoarse voice, “I was… well. You know the type. The spoiled rich kid, who thinks he can have everything in the world. It’s not malicious—it’s simply that he doesn’t know better. His parents have money, power, influence, and no time to really teach him about things like temperance and entitlement.

“I was that kid. And, like plenty of other kids my age, I had my heroes. People I looked up to, people I wanted to be like. Mine had powers. Legend, Alexandria, Eidolon, Chevalier, Myrddin… You know. The works. They were”—he grimaced—“so _cool_. I didn’t know about triggers, or trauma, or the unwritten rules. I just wanted to be like those strong, noble heroes who beat up bad guys, who everyone respected. I wanted to be the center of everyone’s attention. And—and I still do, I think.”

Vista wanted to deny it, to tell Dean he was selling himself short. He had chosen one of the most heroic names she knew of—Gallant—and he’d always lived up to it. He was generous, he was thoughtful, he _understood_. He wasn’t self-centered. Was he?

“Like any spoiled rich kid, I went to my family.” Dean’s tone was wry now. “I must have been twelve, the first time I brought up the subject. My parents told me about triggers, but I wasn’t having it. I wanted to be a _superhero_.” He smiled thinly. “I knew powers came from hard moments—you know how the PRT likes to spread around the rumor that they come when you _overcome_ something—so I started taking risks. And, yeah—I see now that I wasn’t trying anything that would have come _close_ to a real trigger. But I didn’t know that.

“I made riskier plays on the soccer team. I took walks on my own, after dark. I let myself get injured more often, asked out girls I wasn’t as sure about, and generally did my best to risk _failure_. And it’s an odd thing, but the more you risk, the more goes _right_. They say you should live every day like it’s your last, and I don’t know if I went that far, but…” he swallowed and looked down. “I asked Vicky out for the first time back then.”

Beside Vista, Amy shifted slightly. Vista wondered if anyone had seen her react, too. The instinctive jealousy had risen up in her at the mention of Vicky’s name—followed, as it always did now, by the immediate rush of self-loathing. For what had to be the millionth time, Vista found her eyes slipping closed in something like prayer. _I’m sorry, Vicky. I miss you._

“We didn’t start going steady until after—well. But I don’t think I’d ever have gotten to know her if I wasn’t taking all those risks. It definitely wasn’t all bad. But it wasn’t all good, either, and eventually something was bound to go wrong. I got hurt, badly. Broke a couple bones in a stupid play during a soccer game.

“My parents couldn’t stop me from trying to trigger. So my dad did what he _could_ do. He researched. He’d never spent that much time on me since as far back as I can remember. Maybe knowing that I was really putting myself in danger kickstarted his paternal instincts, I don’t know. Either way, he started making inquiries, online and in person. And I guess someone heard about him asking around.”

He bit his lip. “I had to promise not to tell anyone the rest of this,” he said. “I was told that there could be… _really_ serious consequences, if I did. But you all deserve to know. You deserved to know _years_ ago, and I’m just ashamed it took the cat getting out of the bag for me to come forward.

“They’re called Cauldron, and you don’t go to them. They come to you. I don’t know how big they are, or how much influence or money they have. All I know is that one day my dad gets a call, and someone’s telling him—not asking, _telling_ —that they know he’s been asking about powers, and that they have an offer for him. He meets with one of their agents a couple times, and then at the third meeting he brings me in.”

He swallowed. “There were two of them,” he said, and his voice was low. “One of them was a woman in her forties. Black, wore a lab coat, had a French accent. She did all the talking. The other was white, wore a suit and a fedora. Didn’t say a word, barely even looked at us. I was thirteen, and she made me feel like a kid barely out of diapers, scared of the dark.

“The woman in the lab coat introduced herself as ‘Doctor’, and said that they could give people powers. They asked me a bunch of questions about the kinds of powers I wanted. They have—they can _tailor_ their formula, for the right price. They can’t give specific powers, but they can apparently give you pretty good odds of having a particular classification, or set of classifications. I really liked blasters and thinkers, so that’s what I said I wanted. They gave my dad a price, and he paid it. Cash. It was….” He blanched. “It was a _lot_ of money. More than a million dollars. I feel like I should be able to remember better, but that woman in the fedora was _looking_ at me right then.

“Then they gave me a vial, like the ones in those canisters.” He shuddered. “Most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted. I was knocked out, and when I woke up, I had powers. And the rest is history.” He smiled thinly. “My parents are happily divorced, I barely even talk to my mom anymore, and for all I know I’m going to be killed in my sleep tonight for telling you this. All because I was a stupid kid who wanted a thinker power, and got the power to see how broken my parents’ marriage was.”

He fidgeted and looked down. “That’s—that’s all I’ve got,” he mumbled.

There was a moment’s silence. Then Amy spoke in a low voice. “Did you ever tell Vicky about this?”

Dean swallowed, not looking at her. “No.”

“Didn’t think so.” Amy stood up. For a moment she seemed to struggle with herself, fists clenching and unclenching. Then she turned and walked out of the circle and out of the room, headed for the bathroom.

“Amy—” Dean started.

“No,” said Vista, standing up. “Not you.” Without another word, and without once looking at him, she turned her back and walked after Amy.

She was leaning over one of the sinks. Her hands were resting on either side of it, and she was looking down into the basin. Her hair shrouded her face. Nenya was glimmering on her hand like a flickering candle.

Vista watched her from the doorway for a moment after it had shut behind her. Then she turned to the mirror.

Her eyes were wet. When had that happened?

“He’s not a bad person,” said Amy. Her voice was perfectly steady.

“No,” agreed Missy. Hers wasn’t.

Amy stood up properly and combed her fingers through her bangs, pulling the hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ears. Her eyes were sad, and her lips were turned down in a frown, but there were no tears.

Then she reached out and put a hand on Missy’s shoulder. Their eyes met through the mirror.

“He lied to us,” Missy said. She whispered it; if she spoke any louder, she was afraid she would cry.

Amy smiled slightly. It didn’t reach her eyes. “It seems like everyone Vicky loved was lying to her,” she said. “He wasn’t doing it to hurt you.”

“I love him,” Missy whispered. “It fucking _hurts_ , Amy. How could he—”

Amy reached out and took her in her arms. “I know,” she whispered, and now her voice was shaking. “I know.”

Missy cried, and Amy held her.

“Sometimes,” Amy said lowly, “someone you love hurts you. They don’t do it because they mean you harm. They do it because they aren’t _thinking_ about you when they do it. And, somehow, that’s even worse.”

“He’s supposed to understand,” mumbled Missy through her tears. “Isn’t that his fucking _power_? I always thought he _understood_. But he didn’t understand at all.”

“Even the best people can’t be perfect all the time,” Amy murmured, stroking her hair.

“I thought he would be.”

Amy chuckled. It came out like a strangled sob. “I know.”


	66. Blaze 7.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, and @BeaconHill for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

Dean stared after Missy and Amy as the door shut behind them. His face was lined with helplessness and shame. He looked like he was about to cry.

No one else spoke. No one seemed willing to look at him, besides me, and my gaze he avoided.

I stood up. Dean looked down, and everyone else’s eyes snapped to me.

I waited for a moment, but he didn’t look up.

“Look at me,” I ordered.

His head came up. He met my eyes. His jaw was set, and his eyes were bright with mingled shame, fear, and despair.

“Do you understand why trigger events are important?” I asked.

He swallowed. “They give us—give _you_ —common ground. Your powers are all poisoned to you. You can’t use them without remembering that—and you can’t _not_ use them without feeling like you’re playing into it all over again.”

I nodded. “Two parahumans can understand each other better than two people who don’t have a shared experience like that,” I said. “It’s our greatest strength, even as it’s our greatest weakness. As long as we have that foundation, we can foster understanding—and work together, when the situation calls for it.”

“And I don’t have that.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”

He blinked.

“Your powers drove your family apart. Your powers prevented you from being blind to their issues—and, I’m sure, to others’.”

I saw his eyes flicker to the door through which Missy and Amy had gone.

“And I’m certain,” I continued, “that your powers didn’t make losing Vicky any easier.”

He flinched.

“That,” I said quietly, “is what it feels like. So rather than piling more pain on pain, take this as some cold comfort. You have as much grounding in this as the rest of us do. You may have started out differently, Dean— _Gallant_ —but you’re one of us now.” I stepped forward, and held out my left hand. Vilya glimmered bright and blue. “And that’s more than enough for me.”

He looked down at my hand. His lips were twisted in an odd mixture of hurt and gratitude. I had reframed the issue in a way that cast him in a better light, but I had also reminded him of Vicky, of Amy, of Missy, and of his family. The duality was as intended as it was harsh.

But, at last, he reached out and took my hand. Araya flared at the contact.

I gripped his hand tightly. “I gave you that Ring for a reason,” I said. “You haven’t let it down yet, but these past couple weeks have tested you. I know it’s been hard. I know it’s tempting to falter—but you _won’t_ falter. You will carry on, you _must_ carry on—because you _can_ , Dean.”

His eyes were bright. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you,” I said. “We all do.”

“Yeah, none of us are about to tell you you’ve had it easy,” said Dennis firmly. “We know better. You had it easier _at the start_ , but we’ve all come a long way since then.”

“And that’s not even the point,” said Carlos. “None of us are _jealous_ that you didn’t have to go through a trigger, Dean. We’re not...” He shook his head. “I don’t think any of us are that petty.”

I smiled at him. “Maybe _you’re_ not,” I said dryly. Then I shook my head. “But that’s not the point. Look, you’ve all seen me work by now, right? At least once. Talk someone down in a crisis.”

“Like you did to me,” Sophia said.

“Exactly,” I said with a nod in her direction. “Part of what I do is find common ground. It’s easier to win someone over that way. And if I can’t count on them having triggered…” My hands spread in a shrug. “My job just got a lot harder.”

“But it does mean we have some capes who are more stable, right?” Chris said. ”We have to _overcome_ our triggers. A cape who didn’t trigger is, well…”

“Sane?” Sam asked. There was an edge to his voice.

“A cape who didn’t trigger has less baggage,” Dean said quietly. “It makes it easier to be a hero. I’m not going to pretend otherwise.”

I nudged his shoulder. “Stop,” I commanded. “Baggage is not something to be proud of, and you have plenty. Worry about _that_ , not piling more on.” Then I sighed. “But this is the point, do you see? We’re all arguing now. There are seven people in this room, but at least ten opinions.”

“So let’s find common ground,” said Carlos, and Laureya shone upon his finger. “We’re a _team_. We’re more than people who work together, more even than people who fight together. We’re _Ring-Bearers_.”

Brian lowered his head slightly in the corner of my vision.

“Maybe we didn’t all get our powers the same way,” Carlos continued. “Maybe we don’t all _feel_ the same way about them. But I _know_ that any of us would die for any of the others. I know it’ll take more than this to tear us apart--unless we _let it_.”

“So don’t,” I said softly. “Maybe there was a time when Dean lacked that common ground, but he was still your friend, even then. And that time is _long_ gone. He’s _one of us_.”

There was a round of nods and a couple exclamations of “yeah!”

I turned to Dean. He was looking down again. “We don’t forgive you,” I said softly. “There’s nothing to forgive. Thank you for telling us.”

For a moment he was silent. Then he jerked his chin in the direction of the bathroom. “Missy’s still mad.”

“She needs time,” I said. “But you already knew that. Something like this has been coming for a while.”

He looked up at me. His eyes were red. “I thought our Rings would help,” he said.

I shook my head. “Some things,” I said softly, “are beyond even Rings of Power.”

“On the topic of Rings of Power,” Carlos cut in. “Dean said that he might be in danger for telling us all that. Annatar, his future?”

I closed my eyes and reached out with Vilya, peering into the shape of Dean’s future. “Nothing,” I said. “No more than there is in store for the whole city.” I grimaced. “There’s bad things coming, though. I can feel it. But nothing directed at Dean specifically.”

“Bad things?” Dennis asked. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Nor do I,” I admitted. “But whatever’s coming, we’ll drive it back. That’s our job.” I looked around, meeting the eyes of each of my Wards--even Amy and Vista, who had just returned. “We’re heroes.”

* * *

 

It was my second PRT press conference. The first had been my own announcement, and I’d been nervous. I’d been afraid to stand in front of all those people and give an account of myself and my powers.

How strange that thought was now. Admittedly, I wasn’t going to be standing up there today, but even so, the thought of _stage fright_ of all things was somehow laughable now.

Piggot was onstage with Miss Militia. We could see them on the screen which was broadcasting the stage to the green room.

There were five of us in the room. I sat on the couch. Aegis was sitting in an armchair, half of a sandwich in one hand. In one corner, Battery was watching the screen. She was here as something of a chaperone.

Amy was leaning against the wall, her hands in the pockets of her long robe. In the end, she’d decided to stick with the identity of Panacea. “It’s mine,” she’d told me. “Not Carol’s, not New Wave’s, not even Vicky’s. Mine. _I_ decide what it means.”

It was the first time since Leviathan’s attack that I’d seen her in the old red-and-white hood and robe. She seemed to be as aware of that as I was, if the contemplative, mournful expression on her face was anything to go by.

Brian, on the other hand, was fidgeting with his new costume. It was charcoal grey, a spandex suit with dark red armor plates on the torso, shoulders, knees, and elbows.

“Is this _really_ necessary?” he complained. “It’s not as though everyone won’t know I’m Grue.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Battery dryly from where she sat perched on a counter, a cup of coffee in her hands. “Just change your tactics, even if you’re allowed to use your whole power suite. It’ll fool more than you think.”

“Even so,” he said. “Couldn’t I just… start doing the job? Why go through this whole thing? I’m turning eighteen in three and a half weeks anyway.”

“And you won’t be going into the Protectorate for a few months after that,” Battery replied. “You understand how important a reputation is—you must, or you’d never have bothered paying for that helmet. You get the whole image thing. This is our version of that.”

He grunted noncommittally under his new mask, a dark red helmet which revealed the lower part of his face. It was molded so as to resemble flickering flames, which gave way to deep gray smoke at the top. It almost seemed to move as it crowned him in fire and fume.

“ _A lot has changed in the past few weeks,_ ” Piggot was saying. “ _Leviathan’s attack has left every part of this city struggling. No one got out unscathed. But the PRT remains committed to the protection of this city. To that end, we would like to announce some changes to the Wards ENE roster._ ”

“You’d better get backstage,” Aegis told Brian and Amy.

Amy was already opening the green room door. “Wish us luck,” she said, without much enthusiasm, and stepped through. Brian followed.

“He’s not half bad,” said Aegis as the door shut.

I nodded. “Has he talked to you? About his reasons, his motives?”

Aegis shook his head. “Not yet. But I like him. He’s professional. Not at all the psycho supervillain I was expecting.”

“He’s just a man. He had his reasons, and they weren’t terrible.”

Aegis cocked an eyebrow at me. “He _was_ a villain. Maybe he didn’t kill anyone, but he was still a criminal. Don’t tell me you think he was justified?”

“I think he felt like he didn’t have a choice,” I replied. “Like the world was set against him from day one, and that the only option was to hit it harder than it hit him. That ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ are a lot more arbitrary than they ought to be. He just decided not to waste his time worrying about them when he could be worrying about the people in his life.”

Aegis considered me. “Cynical of him,” he said eventually.

“Yes. But he’s not wholly wrong.” I shrugged. “I’d just rather _do_ something about the problems in the system than strike out on my own.”

 _“Most of you already know our first new Ward. She needs no introduction: we’re happy to welcome Panacea to the Wards._ ” Miss Militia’s smile was audible in her voice.

I glanced up at the screen. Sure enough, Panacea was walking onstage now. The crowd was audibly cheering, but her face was perfectly blank, as much a mask as any of us wore.

“She’s not really selling the idea that she wants to be here, is she?” Aegis asked.

The question brought me up short. “ _Does_ she?”

“Hmm?” He blinked at me. “It’s not like we forced her in.”

“She didn’t have many alternatives,” I said. “I just… I realized I don’t know what’s keeping her going, now. I hope she’s found something.”

Aegis’ eyes were inscrutable under his mask. “You should ask her later,” he suggested. “Unless you want me to?”

“No, I will. I owe her that much.”

Panacea had been talking while we spoke. “ _...I intend to contribute to the Wards more directly than I did to New Wave. I look forward to working with them._ ”

“ _Please hold your questions until after we’ve finished our announcements,_ ” said Miss Milita, with a dry humor as she looked over the sea of hands. “ _We have another new Ward joining us._ ”

“ _He’s a new cape,_ ” Piggot took over. “ _His powers create what amounts to wood smoke, which he can use to obstruct sight, sound, and other senses. We’re all looking forward to including him in the Wards’ patrols. Please welcome Fume._ ”

Brian—Fume—walked onstage. Oily black smoke trailed behind him—and, somehow, even though I was privy to the deception, the illusion still held. Grue had wielded darkness. _Fume_ used smoke.

It wouldn’t fool the most determined investigators, but such people were rare—and carefully kept from prominence. No one listened to conspiracy theorists on PHO, after all. I hadn’t really cared whether the image department came through for Brian—the people could either believe the lie or accept the truth, and it didn’t much matter to me which—but I did find myself impressed by the strength of the illusion.

Fume came and stood by the others. “ _Hello,_ ” he said. His voice seemed to surprise him. I imagine he had seldom if ever spoken to this many people without the comforting echo of his old helmet. “ _I haven’t been around as long as most of my teammates, but I’m learning a lot from them already, and I hope to learn more. I’m excited to have the chance to help protect this city._ ”

I hadn’t been party to Brian’s conversations with the Image department, but I imagine they had coached him pretty heavily on that persona. The eager and helpful presentation slotted into place so neatly that I would have had trouble detecting the cracks in his facade, had I not known him personally.

“He’s a good actor,” said Aegis appreciatively.

I nodded.

“ _Now, we can take some basic questions,_ ” said Miss Militia. “ _The Wards will also be running an AMA on PHO this afternoon. First, the woman in—_ ”

Then, suddenly, the screen cut to static. In the same moment, the building was rocked by a thunderous explosion.

All three of us leapt to our feet. “That came from the auditorium!” Aegis exclaimed.

“Annatar, you take point,” ordered Battery, her voice hard. “I’ll be behind, but I’ll need to build up a charge.”

Narsil was already out of its sheath. “Understood,” I said, and burst through the door.

Stage crew were running scared, but they made way for me. Soon I was onstage.

Miss Militia had a pistol in her hands, but it was held loose at her side. Fume and Piggot were also perfectly still. All three of them were staring out into the same point in what had been the audience.

A hole had been blown in the far wall. Bodies lay around it, and I knew they were dead, lying among broken recording equipment. The ground and walls were blackened with the force and heat of the explosion. In the middle of the crater stood a man.

He was tanned, and wore a white dress adorned with feathers. His arms were exposed, and were corded with wiry muscle. His eyeless mask was shaped like a woman’s face, and it too was lined with feathers.

That mask had been pulled up, and his eyes were fixed upon the three standing onstage. I saw them flicker momentarily to me.

“Kill—” he began, but was interrupted by another explosion. This one came from under him. Strange, crystalline flesh, like a spider’s leg made of diamond lattice, burst from the floor, and he was forced to dive backwards to avoid it.

From the base of that tentacle a furrow ran along the ground. I followed that furrow to its source. Panacea knelt there, one hand upon the ground. Nenya shone bright and terrible, practically forming a nimbus around her.

“They’re mastered!” she called to me.

I raised my left hand. Narya burned like fire, and the light fell upon the others. As if emerging from slumber, Miss Militia, Fume, and Piggot shook themselves into alertness.

“Not anymore, they aren’t,” I said.

“Bravo.” The man’s voice was clear and snide, if a bit muffled behind the crystalline limb. “I’d heard you could counter masters, but I wanted to see it for myself.” He was setting his mask back down onto his face as he walked around the pillar of crystal flesh, but it failed to hide the sly smirk on his lips.

“Who are you?” Panacea called, still kneeling with one hand to the floor.

He bowed. “Valefor of the Fallen, at your service,” he said. “And, for the crime of standing against Leviathan, I’m afraid _you_ , Annatar, will have to be punished.”

I smiled thinly. “You’re welcome to try.” I was already sheathing Narsil and reaching for Belthronding.

“Oh, I shall,” said Valefor. “But not now.”

He stepped back, but Miss Militia was already raising her gun. “Surrender,” she ordered, and there was a cold fury in her voice—and under it, a shuddering horror at what she had nearly been made to do.

“I think not,” he chuckled. “Eligos?”

Another figure stepped out from behind the crystal spiderleg. His hand was already scything through the air as he emerged, and I heard rather than saw the blade approaching. A whistle of air on air, speeding towards us like a thrown knife.

“Get down!” I shouted, and dove.

Not a moment too soon. Almost immediately after I hit the ground, the curtain behind me was sliced cleanly in two, the cut fragment falling to the ground with a muffled thud.

There was a thudding sound. I looked up. The crystalline leg had stabbed into the ground, nearly skewering Eligos as he followed Valefor out, but it had only barely missed. By the time I had picked myself back up, both villains were gone.

There was a strange, gurgling sound to my left. I looked. Piggot was lying against the podium, clutching at her throat. Blood was blossoming from the deep cut there, seeping out from under her fingers. Her face was starkly pale against the red.

“PANACEA!” I barely recognized my own voice as I screamed and dove towards the Director.

Amy was just behind me. “Please try to relax,” she said, and I wasn’t sure whether she was talking to me or Piggot as she put her hand on the Director’s neck. The blood stained her hand red, but the wound quickly began to close.

“The _Fallen_ ,” said Miss Militia, practically spitting the name. “As if we didn’t have enough to deal with.”

“Do we have anything on Valefor?” Aegis asked. “A master with that kind of power is going to be a real problem, even with Annatar.”

“I’ve heard the name,” said Miss Militia. “We’ll look it up when we get back to base.”

I stood up, turned, and looked out at what remained of the audience. Most of the crowd seemed to have evacuated, save for those few who had been injured or killed by the initial explosion. I could already hear the sirens of police and paramedics approaching.

I remembered Vilya’s premonitions, over and over again, in the past two weeks since Leviathan’s attack. Again and again, the ominous cloud that hung over the future had shown itself, and I had been unable or unwilling to probe it in detail.

Now it was too late. Valefor, I was sure, was only one part of it, no matter how terrible he was alone.

I looked over the corpses left by the explosion, and knew with the cold certainty of a seer that they were only the beginning.

_End Arc 7: Blaze_


	67. Flicker 8.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

“Renick, I want a report on my desk ten minutes ago,” Piggot ordered the moment we stepped out of the PRT van. “Miss Milita, I want all Protectorate capes to report to the Rig immediately. Armsmaster was scheduled to return sometime today?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Miss Militia replied with all the rapid dignity of a trained soldier.

“Contact—no, you’re busy. Annatar!”

“Yes, Ma’am?” I was having to almost jog to keep up with her as she strode through the hallways, implacable and swift as a river.

“Contact Armsmaster. Use the PRT radios. Tell him to change his route on his approach, and not to use main roads. Give him the basics of the situation.”

“He may not be pleased to hear from me, Ma’am.” After the last time we’d spoken, I wouldn’t be surprised. I wasn’t looking forward to what Armsmaster might have to say to me.

She glanced at me. “Armsmaster is a professional,” she said shortly. “He’ll deal with it. Aegis, round up the Wards, get them suited up and ready to move the moment we have a plan. Fume, you go with him.”

“What do I do?” Panacea asked.

“Get in contact with Lady Photon.”

“Director,” I protested. “Panacea isn’t—”

“It’s fine,” Panacea interrupted me. I glanced at her. Her eyes were hard and flinty. “This is bigger than me.”

Piggot gave her a sharp grin. “Good. Move, all of you. Keep in contact. Level 0 M/S procedures are in effect.”

I split off from the group at the next fork in the hallway and jogged down it. I quickly came upon a PRT trooper in unarmored uniform.

“Where can I find the PRT radio frequencies?” I asked him.

“Uh, up one floor in communications,” he replied, blinking. Then his eyes narrowed. “Wait. M/S procedures. I can’t let you—”

I palmed my phone and speed-dialed Piggot. She answered immediately. “ _Annatar?_ ”

“Director,” I replied putting it on speaker. “Have I got your authorization to enter and use the base’s communications?”

“ _Yes._ ” Piggot understood immediately. “ _Let her pass, soldier. Beryl seven-four-eight indigo._ ”

I hung up and, without giving the soldier another glance, ran past him towards the stairs. As I ascended, taking the steps two at a time, my Wards phone buzzed again. I glanced down at the message.

It was from Piggot. It read simply ‘ _Beryl seven-four-nine-four violet; textual compliment: stentorian. Annatar has authority to use PRT radio equipment._ ’

In a few moments, I was upstairs, showing the guy at the room that message, and then sitting down at a console not unlike the one in Wards HQ. I put on the headset, and consulted with the small booklet containing the encoding frequencies for every PRT/Protectorate radio channel.

I found the one for Protectorate/PRT communications, and the subchannel for Armsmaster in particular. I tapped into it on the console and waited for the static to fade before starting to speak.

“Armsmaster, this is Annatar,” I said. “Do you copy, Armsmaster?”

“Copy and read,” he replied. He sounded older than he had when last I’d heard him. His voice was a little rougher, even ignoring the terse dislike I heard in it.

“Valefor of the Fallen just attacked the PRT press conference here a few minutes ago,” I said. “The situation is uncertain, but we know there’s a villain master on the loose. Director Piggot requests that you change your approach, and avoid major streets.”

There was silence for a moment. “Understood,” he said, and the dislike was gone in favor of businesslike determination. “Beryl seven-six-twelve magenta?”

“Topaz four-four-thirteen turquoise.”

“Good,” I heard him sigh in audible relief as I returned the correct passphrase. “I’m currently about an hour out from the bay. Dragon has been contacted and will send suits to assist. Keep me apprised of the situation.”

“Yes, sir.” I hesitated. “It’ll be good to have you back. I’m—”

“We’ll talk later,” he interrupted. “Keep it professional.”

“Yes, sir. Annatar out.” I disconnected from the channel and took off the headset.

My phone was ringing. I answered it.

“Annatar.” It was Aegis. “You’ve contacted Armsmaster?”

“Yes,” I replied, striding out of the radio room. “You need me downstairs?”

“As soon as you can,” he said. “We’re starting to get information, but we need you here.”

“I’m on my way. You want Vilya?”

“For now.” I could hear the grimace in his voice. “I’m pretty sure Narya is going to see some use in the next few days, though.”

* * *

 

“Annatar,” Clockblocker turned to me the moment I stepped out of the elevator. “Our Rings. Do they make us immune to master effects?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Well, to an extent. You can fight them off.”

“But we can fail?” asked Kid Win.

“In theory,” I replied. “But it’s a battle of wills, and you’re Ring-Bearers. As long as you remain steadfast, you _won’t_ fail. It’s that simple.”

“You’re using Vilya, right?” Sophia asked suddenly from a corner.

I blinked at her. “Yes. Why?”

“Can we practice?” she asked. “You can use your master power on us, and we can try to throw it off.”

I recoiled. “What? No!”

She shrank back ever so slightly. “Okay, okay, sorry,” she apologized. “It was just an idea. I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” Vista asked me. “It makes sense. It—”

“I’m _not_ fucking mastering you!” I said forcefully. “It’s not happening!”

“But—” Vista began, her voice raised in protest.

“No.” Amy’s voice cut through the conversation like a blade. She glanced at me. “That’s a line, isn’t it?”

“A big one.”

“Okay. No mastering.” Amy’s voice was firm. “It’s not happening.”

I smiled gratefully at her. “Thank you.”

“Okay. Fine. We’ll just wait until we hear from the PRT and Protectorate,” said Aegis. “In the meantime, I want everyone ready for a fight at any moment. Any equipment you might need, make sure you have it. We’ll wait here for word from Piggot or Miss Militia.”

I sighed. “All right,” said Clockblocker. “I’m turning on the news, then. We’ll see what the public knows about the situation.”

“Good idea,” I agreed as he strode over to the television. The rest of us followed and joined him on the couches.

After fiddling with the remote for a moment, he got the screen to light up. A few changed channels later, and a harried-looking woman was onscreen, a microphone in one hand. Behind her was the auditorium where Valefor had attacked. The hole in its side was blackened and burned where the explosion had scorched the concrete.

“ _—the attack was perpetrated by a member of the villain group known as the Fallen,_ ” she was saying. “ _PRT sources are reluctant to discuss ongoing operations at this time, but—_ ”

Sophia, beside me, leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “I’m sorry, Taylor. I didn’t know you had such a problem with your master powers.”

I glanced at her sidelong. I couldn’t see her face under her mask, but she was practically radiating shame. I gave her a small smile.

“I forgive you,” I said.

She ducked her head and didn’t reply.

We sat in near silence for almost a quarter of an hour, watching the ongoing news coverage. Through that whole time, the anchor said nothing we didn’t already know. At long last, Aegis’ phone rang. He answered as Clockblocker turned off the TV.

“Aegis here,” he said. A pause. “Yes Ma’am. I’ll—yes. I’ll tell her. Of course. Yes, Ma’am.”

He hung up and turned to me. “She wants you on Vilya,” he said. “We think Valefor’s going to claim territory and set up a base of operations. She wants you to figure out where that’ll be.”

“I’ll give it a shot.”

“Good,” he nodded. “Dragon’s also started surveillance. She’ll be in touch with you if she finds anything. You can work from the console. The rest of us will stay here, and let you know if anything comes up.”

“Sounds good,” I agreed, standing up. “Keep me posted?”

“Of course,” he said. “Good luck.”

“You want someone to keep you company?” Sophia asked. “Or will you work better alone?”

“I’ll be fine. I’d like to talk to Dragon, anyway,” I confessed. “Thanks, though.”

She nodded. “Good luck.”

I entered the small console room and shut the door behind me. For the second time in the past hour, I sat in a chair, slipped on a headset, and began to work.

“ _Hello, Annatar,_ ” came Dragon’s voice in my ear.

“Dragon,” I said. “Glad to hear from you again. It’s been a while since I spent time in M/S confinement.”

She let out a soft laugh. “ _So it has. And there wasn’t exactly time to catch up during the fight with Leviathan._ ”

“How’s Armsmaster?” I asked, even as the better part of my consciousness reached out with Vilya.

“ _He’s healthy, if that’s what you’re asking,_ ” she said. “ _I wanted to talk to you about him, actually._ ”

“Go ahead.”

“ _During the fight, he asked you for a Ring, and you refused. He’s bitter—but more than that, I think he doesn’t trust you anymore._ ”

“I’m not surprised.”

“ _What exactly did you tell him?_ ”

“I told him that a Ring of Power would be incredibly dangerous to someone who hadn’t received it freely,” I said. “And it’s true. They would bind themselves so tightly that their host would be throttled.”

“ _You’re speaking figuratively._ ”

“There aren’t words in English. I could tell you about _i Fëa qualmë_. I could even translate it— _the death of the soul_. But there are some things language isn’t quite able to convey.”

She was silent for a moment. Then she spoke again. “ _You don’t mind that I’m using your console’s cameras to see your face, do you?_ ”

“Not at all,” I replied. “I wish I could see your face as well, though.”

A screen lit up, and a woman’s face appeared on it. The CGI rendering was of a kind-looking woman with dark hair, somewhere in her twenties. “Best I can do, I’m afraid,” she said with a smile.

I smiled back. “It’ll do for me.” The expressions on the false face were absolutely real, I was certain. Even her eyes sparkled with life.

“So. Armsmaster.” Dragon’s face fell slightly. “You were really trying to protect him?”

“Him,” I said. “You. Myself. Everyone. A Ring of Power isn’t a small thing; in the wrong hands, it could be devastating.”

“And what makes Armsmaster the wrong hands?”

I shook my head. “His aren’t the _wrong_ hands, necessarily. He truly is well-suited to Narya, and had things been just a little different, I might have given him the Ring then,” I said.  “But he wanted it for the wrong reasons. That little bit of him just _isn’t_ ready. Or, well, it wasn’t. Maybe he’s changed.”

There was silence for a moment, and I took advantage of it. Vilya shimmered and grew cold upon my finger, and I saw the lapping of waves upon the shore in my mind’s eye.

“They’re in the east part of the city,” I said. “Still trying to narrow it down.”

“I’ll keep looking there,” she replied immediately. “I… think I understand, Annatar. You want someone more altruistic than Armsmaster is, for Narya.”

“That’s a big part of it.” I shrugged. “Narya is a beacon. It’s a bonfire. It can’t go to someone who isn’t ready for that kind of responsibility. It’ll burn them away.”

She didn’t reply for a moment. “I’m glad you didn’t give it to him.”

I considered her. “You care for him.”

I’d half expected evasion, but she just met my eyes steadily. “Deeply. He’s a good man.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “But he has room to grow.”

“Don’t we all?” A faint, sad smile flickered across her features. Then she glanced to the side. “I think I’ve found something. A couple of ongoing crimes near what’s left of the Boardwalk. I’m trying to get video.”

“What are Valefor’s powers, exactly?” I asked. “I haven’t had time to look him up.”

“He can hypnotize people by meeting their eyes,” she replied, still looking into the distance. “Then he implants suggestions. He can turn ordinary people into sleeper agents without their knowing. We only finished putting it together after his encounter with you at the auditorium.”

“Dangerous.”

“Ye—Got it. Yeah, these are definitely his.”

Another screen lit up. An image appeared—a man facing the counter of a shop, a shotgun in his hands. His eyes were dull, his face blank. The gun was pointed at the cashier.

“That store sells weapons,” said Dragon grimly. “He’s arming his thralls.”

I closed my eyes. _Which direction from there?_

_North._

“What’s north of that?”

She frowned. “North? Not much, the road goes down to the waterline. Let me see. A grocery store, a couple of restaurants, a church—”

“That,” I said, standing up. Vilya had flared, and I found myself growing angry. “The bastard set up in a _church_. He named himself after an archduke of hell and he’s set up in a _church_ , the smug prick.”

She grimaced. “It’s… fitting, in an ironic way. You’re sure? I’m sending further surveillance down to verify, but we can get the PRT moving in advance.”

“I’m certain.”

“Then I’ll contact Piggot and Miss Militia,” she said with a nod. “You get your team ready.” She gave me a quick smile. “It was good to catch up.”

I smiled back. “I look forward to working with you.”

* * *

 

There were seven of us. Clockblocker, Browbeat, Panacea, Gallant, Vista, Sophia, and I all piled into our own PRT van while troopers packed into theirs. We’d been ordered to leave three of our number behind, and Aegis thought it best that he stay with the defense, since I would be present to lead the attack. He was on console.

As soon as we were all in the van, it started moving and the radio crackled to life. “ _Wards,_ ” came Piggot’s voice. “ _I’m sure Annatar’s given you the basics of the situation._ ”

“Only the basics,” said Clockblocker. “We know Valefor’s set up in a church in the northeast part of town. That’s about it.”

“ _That’s all the rest of us know, too,_ ” said Piggot dryly. “ _The mission is simple: shut down the Fallen’s operation in this city. If we’re very, very lucky, that’ll only involve assaulting this one location._ ”

“We’re not that lucky,” I answered dryly.

“ _Agreed._ ” Piggot’s voice was grim. “ _I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. This is too easy—Valefor shows up at the press conference only minutes after first arriving in Brockton, and we get a bead on his base of operations within an hour? Something’s wrong with that picture._ ”

“You think he’s been in the Bay for longer?” Sophia asked.

“ _Yes,_ ” said Piggot. “ _And I don’t know who he might have compromised. Be on your guard, and trust no one you don’t have to._ ”

“What if he’s compromised you, Ma’am?” I asked.

There was a pause.

“ _Then you’d better hope our M/S procedures work,_ ” said Piggot steadily.

“Yes, Ma’am."

“ _Until things change, though, we’re going to assume that we can trust each other,_ ” Piggot continued. “ _The alternative isn’t an option. The Wards are going to—_ ”

There was a sound, like the crack of thunder. I looked forward out the windshield. A single firework had gone off. Red sparks were faintly visible against the afternoon sky.

“ _What was—_ ” Piggot began, but her voice was cut off when our driver shut off the radio.

My eyes darted to his face. His eyes were glazed, his mouth slack.

And I was still wearing Vilya. I’d been planning to swap once we arrived.

“No!” I screamed impotently as he turned the car and drove straight into a brick wall.


	68. Flicker 8.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

“ _Annatar. Annatar, do you copy?_ ”

I pushed my way out from the pile of masonry under which I’d been buried, and at last palmed my radio. “I copy, Director. Our driver was compromised. Someone—Valefor sent up a signal flare and he drove into a wall. I’m sorry, I wasn’t wearing Narya. It’s my fault.”

“ _It’s not, but are you wearing Narya now?_ ”

I slipped it on, put Vilya away, and closed the Jewelry Box. “Yes, Ma’am.” I swallowed, looking over the pile of brickwork which had once been a sound wall. We’d broken into the lawn surrounding an office building. The van had gone straight through the wall, across the short stretch of grass, and into the glass wall of the building beyond. I could see bricks and shards stirring around me where others were pulling themselves out of the rubble, but I didn’t know who was still alive and conscious.

“ _Good,_ ” said Piggot. “ _He somehow got our designated drivers. Several of our vans have been destroyed. He must have been gathering intel on us for weeks. We just lost several good people, Annatar. I need you to get your teammates out of the rubble, as fast as you can. We’ll talk about what to do after you know who’s still alive.”_

“Everyone’s still alive.”

I turned. Sophia stood there, her form still coalescing after returning from her search beneath the rubble. “All of us are fine,” she reported. “Vista will need some help getting out. The driver’s dead.”

I swallowed. “Thank you,” I said. “Director, we’ll dig the others out.”

“ _Do that. Quickly. Piggot out._ ”

I clipped my radio back to my belt. “Okay,” I said. “Where’s Vista?”

“Over here.” She led me to a particularly shallow place where the rubble was stirring. Sure enough, there was Vista’s arm, pulling away at the bricks.

We knelt and helped her clear them away. She was coughing and wheezing in a cloud of dust when we got her free.

“Fuck,” she growled, pulling herself into a sitting position and rubbing her bruised leg. “What is it with operations you’re in charge of and us getting buried, Annatar?”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ blame this on Annatar,” said Sophia in a voice like a knife.

“It was a joke,” grumbled Vista. “I’m just pissed off. Is everyone okay?”

“All of us,” I said.

“That’s all I care about. Let’s get them out.”

Browbeat had already pulled himself free by the time we started on the next of our friends. One by one, they came free. No one was seriously injured, though we were all bruised and in pain.

“Director,” I spoke into the radio. “We’ve all gotten out of the rubble now. Should we report back to headquarters?”

“ _No._ ” That wasn’t Piggot’s voice. “ _Dragon and I have set up a containment perimeter around the church. You are to make your way here._ ”

“Armsmaster?”

“ _Yes._ ” His voice was hard, determined. “ _I will not allow the Fallen to gain a foothold in this city. This ends now, before Valefor has a chance to make things any worse._ ”

“Yes, sir!” I was glad. This whole affair reminded me uncomfortably of Bakuda. While I wasn’t willing to lead my Wards into danger the way I had that night, the instinct to _stop the enemy now_ was still there, and every bit as strong as it had been then.

“We don’t have transportation,” Panacea reminded us.

I looked at her. Then I looked at Vista, who was also looking at the former healer.

“Hello, and welcome to Vista air,” she said in a sing-song voice. “I’ll be your pilot for the evening. Now let’s _go_.”

“After you,” said Gallant.

Vista stopped. Her head turned and she gave him a look. I couldn’t see her eyes under her visor, but I could still feel the hardness in them. Gallant looked away.

Without another word, Vista lazily waved a hand through the air, and the road beside us shortened until one step was a couple of blocks. One by one, we stepped through.

It took us several such jumps before we neared Armsmaster. The city wasn’t exactly in chaos, but there was a thick, cloying tension in the air. Valefor’s presence had been felt, and the people were on edge. The sun was only starting to sink, it was still the middle of a warm afternoon, but it felt like night had fallen.

After a few minutes of travel, we were deposited outside a shop which I recognized. The windows had been broken, and the store was empty—both of personnel, and of the weapons which had been on its shelves.

The shop was on a street corner, and down one street I could see the spires of the church rising above the other buildings. Beside the shop, taking cover behind it, was Armsmaster. His blue armor was freshly repaired and painted, his halberd polished to a rich luster.  We ducked into cover with him, and he turned to us.

“Wards. Good to see you.”

“Armsmaster.” I nodded at him. “Who else is here?”

“Velocity’s making sure they stay contained,” he said. “Battery and Triumph are down the road that way, at another exit point, and Miss Militia and Assault are on their way.”

“Are you in command then?”

He nodded. “Yes. Annatar, you can break Valefor’s power on people?”

I nodded. “When it’s active, at least. I’m not sure I can break the effect on sleeper agents.”

“Then we’ll have to be careful.” He turned and looked down the road towards the spire a couple of blocks down. The cross atop the building was slightly crooked. “Valefor is still in there,” he said. “He’s biding his time, and I don’t know what he’s waiting for.”

“What has he got?” Clockblocker asked. “Weapons, troops?”

Armsmaster’s lips turned downwards into a scowl. “Thralls,” he spat. “He’s likely got them implanted with suggestions to rush us if we attack, but right now they’re just scared civilians. It’s a standard tactic for human masters with large numbers of minions. They’re packed in there with him, at least a hundred, based on infrared scans.”

“So it’s a hostage situation,” Panacea said. She glanced at me. “Didn’t you infiltrate the last hostage situation you were in?”

I met her eyes. “I still had Nenya then.”

She winced. “…Right.”

“Could you infiltrate?” Armsmaster asked her. “You and Shadow Stalker?”

“I don’t….” Panacea shook her head. “I’ve never been good with Nenya’s stranger powers. They work, but I’m not trained for combat and infiltration the way Annatar and Shadow Stalker are.”

“Annatar did that mission after being a Ward for three days,” said Sophia dryly.

Panacea rolled her eyes. “Annatar cheats, though,” she grumbled.

“Enough.” Armsmaster’s voice was hard. “Infiltration is out, then. I’m not sending you in alone, Shadow Stalker.”

“I just infiltrated a meeting for _all of Empire 88_ on my own,” Sophia protested. “I can handle this.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” countered Armsmaster. “We have the advantage of numbers, at least where capes are concerned. It doesn’t make sense to relinquish that, even for the sake of intelligence. After all, we _know_ where they are, and I don’t intend for them to be on the streets long enough for their future plans to make any difference. We don’t _need_ to infiltrate. We just need to wait for backup, and then engage.”

“You said they were stalling,” I pointed out. “Are you sure waiting is the right call?”

His gaze fell upon me. “Sure? No. But I’m sure attacking before we’re ready would be the wrong one. Unless you have a pressing desire to repeat the Bakuda fiasco?”

“Hey,” growled Sophia.

Armsmaster completely ignored her, and me, and turned back towards the church. “Miss Militia will contact us soon,” he said. “When she does, we’ll attack. Priority one is keeping the civilians alive. Am I understood?”

“Of course,” I said, glancing around at my Wards. They were all nodding.

“If they run at you, you are not to kill them,” said Armsmaster grimly. “If they have weapons, you are not to kill them. Lethal force is authorized if and only if it is your only choice in the face of imminent death, on the part of yourself or a teammate.”

“Yes, sir,” we chorused.

He looked back at us. There was a grim, downward set to his lips. He didn’t say anything, just considered us.

Then something fell from the sky. It was a hulking mechanical thing, four-legged and plated in golden armor like scales. Weapons bristled from its back—guns, missiles, lasers, and some things I couldn’t even begin to identify. Its long neck ended in a lizard-like face, in which were set two glowing electronic eyes, blue as sapphires.

Armsmaster turned to it. “Dragon,” he said, and there was something in his voice, under the cold professionalism—a softness I didn’t think I’d ever heard there before. “Anything to report?”

Dragon seemed to hesitate. It was hard to read her through the mechanical suit. “Nothing pressing,” she said, her voice somewhat distorted, but still recognizable. “Except that Miss Militia and Assault are almost in position outside the outer perimeter. You’ll be getting a call in a few moments. Which angle do you want me to come in from?”

He considered. “Can you attack from the coast side?” he asked. “ From the air. They probably won’t expect that.”

She nodded, her long neck bending elegantly. “I can do that.”

“Thank you,” he said. Then his radio chimed.

“ _This is Miss Militia,_ ” came the voice I knew well. “ _Assault and I are in position._ ”

“Good,” said Armsmaster. He glanced at Dragon.

“Good luck,” she said quietly.

I saw his lips twitch slightly into a faint, involuntary smile. “You too.” Then he turned to us.

“Our objective is to get to the church and disable Valefor,” he said. “The civilians are not to be harmed, but the PRT can handle containing them. We need to focus on the master. We can’t let him keep enslaving people. So we want to get _past_ the civilians, if he sends them against us, and not get bogged down in either fighting or disabling them.”

“Got it,” I said. “Vista, can you help?”

“Nor around the corner,” she said. “If it’s a clear shot, yeah.”

“If it’s possible, we’ll do that,” said Armsmaster. Then he spoke into his radio. “Prepare to engage on my mark.”

He turned to me as Dragon flew away. “Narya?” he asked.

“On my finger.” I glanced at my Wards. They were looking at me.

Armsmaster bared his teeth. “Mark,” he said. Then he turned the corner and charged.

Out came Iphannis. Its blade shone blue as the haft extended. With my Wards behind me, I rushed after Armsmaster.

Even as we began to run, though, doors along both sides of the road opened, and out poured people—men, women, even children, all with blank eyes and slack jaws. They rushed out to meet us, some with weapons, some without. None of them had guns, which was a small mercy.

“Vista?” I called.

“Too many people!” she said. “Can’t!”

I nodded and raised my hand. Narya flared. The red light of the Ring of Fire spread slowly over one face after another. Eyes cleared and blinked. A few people fell to their knees, and some began to cry. One woman began to vomit.

But Narya spread slowly. Freeing this many dominated souls took time, and so we were being pushed into a growing circle of freed civilians, hemmed in from outside by more thralls. In the end, this only made it harder to push forward.

“Gallant!” I shouted. “I need some help!”

“What do you suggest?” he asked.

“Make them move!”

He stared at me for a moment, then he nodded. “Got it!” He raised Araya, and the Fire Opal shone brightest orange. I felt the wave of _terror_ pass over me, but it did not light upon me. Not so for the civilians crushing me. They screamed and began fighting their way through the enthralled, joining us in our efforts to push through, albeit for entirely different reasons.

Slowly, by terrifying the civilians and freeing the enthralled, we pushed our way through. Armsmaster led us, and we Wards followed.

Dragon’s suit was already hovering in the churchyard when we arrived. The crowd thinned as we neared the gate, and cleared entirely when we had passed into the church’s surrounding lawn. Behind us, near the perimeter we had first crossed, I saw a line of PRT troops beginning to foam civilians en masse.

Dragon flew down and joined us as we crossed into the yard. “I thought you’d want us to breach around the same time,” she said by way of explanation.

“Thank you,” Armsmaster nodded. “The others, where are they?”

“Miss Militia and Assault will be here shortly,” she said. “The other two teams are still about a block away, getting bogged down with civilians. Velocity’s trying to help them through, but he can get to us pretty quickly.”

“Damn,” Armsmaster swore. “We’ll wait for them, and then go in.” He looked around. “Why is he letting us stay here? Why aren’t the civilians out there still coming after us? What’s his game?”

“He knows I can counter him directly,” I said. “He might just be stalling.”

“Or he might be setting up a deadman’s switch of some kind,” said Clockblocker grimly.

“Dammit,” Armsmaster swore. “You’re right, we can’t afford to wait. Dragon, call for Velocity, and send the others in after us.”

“Are you sure, Armsmaster?”

He hesitated, meeting the mechanical dragon’s piercing gaze. “...Yes,” he said at last.

She nodded, her head dipping elegantly on her long neck. “Okay. I’ll breach from above while you go in through the door. Good luck.”

He smiled faintly. “Thanks. You too.”

He turned to us. “Annatar, are you ready?”

I stretched my fingers. Narya flared. “Of course.”

“Then let’s go.” He turned and led us into the building.


	69. Flicker 8.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper 1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.
> 
> Apologies for the late post. Final exams and a very difficult editing process delayed this chapter considerably.

A spray of gunfire met us as Armsmaster threw the wooden doors open. Armsmaster turned his face away from the bullets, and I saw his mask shift to allow plates to fold out, covering his mouth and chin.

“Get to cover!” he ordered over the clatter of bullets against his armor.

My teammates ducked behind the doorway. I couldn’t join them—Narya couldn’t free the civilians from that distance.

Instead, I dove past him, into the church. Bullets pinged off of my pauldrons and helm as I surged forward, head low, and charged behind a pew, more bullets sinking into the wood with muffled thuds.

One man was right on the other side of the pew, and as I slid into cover, he pointed his gun down at me. I was faster, and I met his eyes as Narya flared on my finger.

Those dull, blank eyes cleared and blinked at me, bright blue and a little watery. The man’s half-open mouth, framed by a trimmed brown beard, closed. I saw him swallow. A faintest expression of mingled relief and revulsion crossed his face.

Then a bullet burst through the center of his forehead. Blood and flecks of gore exploded from the exit wound, spattering me, staining my armor and my face with red. The man slumped and fell, his ruined face turned towards me as it lay upon the back of the pew.

I couldn’t see his eyes, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that their gaze was on me, hurt and accusing.

I was shaking. I couldn’t look away. On a nervous impulse, I licked my lips, and tasted the coppery tang of blood that wasn’t mine.

Distantly, I knew what had happened. _Valefor ordered them to kill each other if I freed them. He knows I don’t work instantly._

But how _had_ he known? Or had he simply left the compulsion as a gamble, on the off-chance that it might work? And what was the point? These people were innocent—what purpose did killing them serve? It didn’t help him beat me, it didn’t help him fight the Protectorate. If anything, it made him only more likely to be taken seriously—which increased the chances that someone truly scary, like Legend or Alexandria, might be sent to Brockton Bay to stop him. Why escalate like this?

_Why kill this man?_

And, more pressingly, there was a traitorous little part of my brain that didn’t agree that _Valefor_ had killed this man at all.

Suddenly, there was an arm around me, and a voice screaming in my ear. “Annatar! Taylor!”

I blinked, and the world came back into focus. “Don’t say my name, Shadow Stalker,” I said evenly, turning away from the dead man to the girl crouching in cover beside me.

“You weren’t—” she stopped herself, and then started again. “Dragon’s going to foam the building, we need to fall back!”

I nodded. “Okay. Go, I’ll be right behind you.”

She turned into a wisp of shadow and sped away, out towards the doorway, and I followed, keeping low as the bullets pinged off of my armor.

Soon I was outside, and there was Dragon, right in front of me, a large cannon protruding from one shoulder. “Out of the way, please,” she said, perfectly calm.

I stepped aside into the cover of the wall, and the moment I was clear, the cannon fired. Containment foam blossomed forth in a veritable river, bursting into the building and expanding to fill the hall.

Dragon kept spraying until the blob of hardening foam stretched from the doorway to the pulpit, covering up every one of Valefor’s armed thralls. When the cannon retracted, she turned to me. “Are you all right?” she asked gently.

“Fine,” I said, raising a red-stained hand to uselessly wipe away at the blood on my face. “It’s not mine.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry. We should have led with containment foam.”

“Why didn’t we?” Sophia asked, and her voice was harsh. “If we had—”

“It was entirely possible that Valefor would be absent,” Armsmaster interrupted. “As he was. We needed to know that immediately. In addition, had Annatar managed to free a civilian, we might have been able to ask them where he went, or about his other operations. It made sense to try a more measured approach first.”

“But it didn’t work out this time,” said Dragon, still looking at me. “Annatar, I’m sorry. Are you certain you’re all right?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “I just—I want to hunt down Valefor and be done with this.”

“Agreed,” Armsmaster said grimly. “But we don’t have a lot of options. The church was our best lead, and he seems to have slipped away.”

“We’ll find him,” Dragon reassured him. “But we need to get back to the PRT perimeter.”

* * *

 

PRT vans had blocked off the street and the troopers were setting up a wooden barrier. As we passed it, Dragon turned aside, glowing blue eyes looking back over the road behind us, and the church still visible only a couple blocks away. “I’m sorry about the bad intel,” she told Armsmaster. “He definitely _was_ there.”

“I believe you,” he said firmly. “It’s not your fault. He’s slippery. Can you and Annatar locate him again?”

“I think so,” she said. “Especially since we won’t be working alone.”

Armsmaster frowned. “Did the PRT call in another thinker?”

“You could say that,” came a voice from beside one of the vans.

There stood a girl with long blond hair, her teeth bared in a sly smile which reminded me uncomfortably of Valefor’s. She was leaning against the PRT vehicle, wearing a blank white costume, and her familiar green eyes were roving over us. She wasn’t hard to place. “Tattletale,” I growled.

“What,” said Amy, in a voice as hard and cold as a glacier, “is _she_ doing here?”

"We need all the help we can get." Dragon turned to us, her mask arranging into a sheepish expression. "Now isn't the time for grudges."

“Besides, Tattletale isn’t here,” said Tattletale easily. “The PRT paid Faultline extra just to make sure Tattletale was _absolutely_ not here. No sir. Definitely doing something completely unrelated right now. Hey, Panacea, been a while. How’s your family?”

“Tattletale, please,” said Dragon, her gritted teeth audible even through her helmet speakers.

“No, go right ahead, Tattletale,” I said, giving the blonde a smile that was all teeth. “Keep baiting Panacea. I want to see what happens.”

Tattletale blinked at me. “Hey, Annatar,” she said. “How’s Grue—oh, sorry, _Fume_?”

“He’s well,” I said. “I like to think we’re a better team for him.”

To her credit, Tattletale’s composure didn’t even waver as she chuckled. “I suppose it’s sensible to make sure his cage is gilded,” she acknowledged. “Didn’t expect you to be giving up one of your main modules this early, though. How’s Panacea enjoying it?”

“Stop.” Armsmaster’s voice was clipped and burned with barely-contained anger and contempt captured everyone’s attention. “Tattletale, you’re rapidly becoming a liability. I wasn’t involved in hiring you—”

“Hired, me?” Tattletale put a hand on her chest in mock surprise. “I told you, I’m doing something completely—”

“You are five seconds from me foaming you and taking you into custody, _supervillain_ ,” said Armsmaster evenly. “ _Shut up_. And get to work.”

Tattletale narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, then nodded. “Yep, you’re serious. Like to see that, but we’ve got bigger problems.”

“Yes, we do,” agreed Dragon. “Tattletale, Annatar, please come with me. We need to talk, and you need to see the footage I’ve recovered.”

“The rest of you, stay here,” Armsmaster ordered, looking around at the other Wards. “We’ll try to coordinate the other heroes and help maintain containment.”

“Panacea,” I said quickly, “can you try to find them as well? With Nenya?”

She nodded, still looking after Tattletale with narrowed eyes. Nenya’s light was shimmering around her like a faint corona. “Already working on it. Don’t have much to go on, though. For all we know, they have a teleporter. But I’m trying.”

“Thanks.”

As I turned away, Panacea touched my arm. “Tell her,” she said lowly, “that if she doesn’t get her act together, I’m going to kill her.”

I glanced at her. Amy met my eyes. Hers were dark and furious. “I’ll tell her,” I promised.

Amy nodded sharply and turned away.

I waved goodbye to my team and followed Dragon and Tattletale past the line of PRT troopers and vans to another PRT van, set a little apart from the others. Spilling out of the back of it was an array of screens and computer consoles, with everything from images, to video, to charts on them. The moment they came into view, Tattletale sped up, passing Dragon to reach this array.

“These graphs,” she said slowly. “Why—seismic activity?”

“Look at the spike,” Dragon said. “Just about half an hour ago.”

Tattletale’s eyes narrowed as she studied the chart. The graph was mostly just squiggles to me; a low-amplitude line of activity with a small surge recently.

“You think he tunneled under the church?” Tattletale asked.

“I think it’s a possibility, but your instincts are better than mine.”

“I don’t think he has a cape that could do it. Explosives would be more obvious. I think a couple of local capes might have been able to do it, but it might also just be a natural spike. Can I see a longer timescale?”

Dragon nodded. “I’m pulling one up now. Annatar, can you switch modules and—”

“Rings,” Tattletale interrupted absently, looking over the new graph. “We’re all grown-ups here. No need for euphemisms.”

Dragon sighed. “Can you switch Rings and begin trying to isolate Valefor?”

I nodded and pulled out the Jewelry Box.

“No,” Tattletale decided as I switched Rings. “No, this spike is totally within usual margins. My power doesn’t think it’s Valefor.”

“Okay,” said Dragon, with an elegant nod. “We’ll try something else. Can you take a look at my surveillance footage from over the church?”

Tattletale nodded. “Sure. You think they might have hacked your cameras?”

“I think it’s a possibility. I’ve got algorithms scrubbing them, but I can’t guarantee they’d work on tinkertech.”

“Well, I’ll probably be able to tell. Let’s take a look.” She glanced over at me. “Annatar, you just… do whatever it is you do.”

I nodded, my eyes closing as I focused on Vilya. “Already on it.”

As always with Vilya, the difficulty was coming up with a question to ask. The more specific the question, the less likely I was to get a coherent answer. Asking _Where will Valefor be in ten minutes?_ gave me nothing beyond _Brockton Bay_. Asking _In which direction will he be?_ yielded _West_ , which was almost as useless, since I was currently one block from the coast.

“Wait,” Tattletale’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Annatar, you detected that Valefor _would be_ at the church, right?”

I opened my eyes and nodded. “Yes. And we know he was—”

“You’re a _precog_ ,” she stressed. “And your powers don’t do the whole “technically true” thing. No, either he was still in the church when you got there, or there was something _important_ about that church that led you there, instead of any of the other places he got all those thralls from. Dragon, can you get blueprints of the church?”

“I can certainly try.”

“Get anything you have on the grounds, too,” Tattletale added. “Call it a hunch.”

I watched as Dragon’s suit looked away for a moment. I imagined she was working busily on a computer from whatever remote location she was really in.

“Got it,” she said. “Pulling it up. I think you were on to something.”

A blueprint appeared on one of the screens. “Oh,” said Tattletale.

“What is it?” I asked.

“The church’s basement was modified a few years ago,” said Dragon. “It was linked to an Endbringer shelter.”

“And that’s where Valefor is,” said Tattletale. “Or was. Endbringer shelters tend to have multiple entrances, in case one caves in.”

“Why wasn’t the entrance to an Endbringer shelter marked?” I asked. “Shouldn’t there have been signs?”

“There were,” Dragon said dryly. “Valefor is a member of the _Fallen_. I should have noticed the damaged signs on the street earlier. He must have vandalized them—partly in keeping with the theme of the Fallen, and partly to throw us off his trail.”

Tattletale rolled her eyes. “If you’d just _let me into the containment area—_ ”

“That wasn’t going to happen,” said Dragon flatly. “You _are_ still a villain, Tattletale. We’re not letting you into an active M/S containment zone.”

“I can’t work if—”

“Can we get the blueprints to the shelter?” I interrupted.

“I’m working on it,” Dragon said. “ShelTech has pretty good encryption. Tinkertech.”

Tattletale closed her eyes. Something flickered across her face. “Coil owns that company,” she said.

Dragon turned to her. “Really?”

Tattletale nodded. “I worked for him—well, the Undersiders did. He was our sponsor.” She grimaced. “Our sugar daddy, if you want.”

Some part of me—that same part which found itself drawn to stories, to interesting people and their struggles, that part which had listened raptly as Dean explained his history, and which had known instinctively that the way to win Sophia over was to get her to talk—wanted to go deeper into this. There was a story here, and I wanted to know it. But now wasn’t the time. “That might be an opportunity,” I said instead. “Assuming we have any active surveillance on Coil, could we use that to get into ShelTech?”

“I can hack into ShelTech’s databases with some difficulty,” Dragon said. “I’ll set a worm to find blueprints.” She sighed. The sound came out with an off dusting of static through the speakers. “Still, there are more efficient ways to do this. I’m going to search through the map of Brockton bay, and find the public entrances to this shelter. That’ll at least get us started.”

“And we can set a PRT perimeter around those entrances,” said Tattletale. “That’s a good start, at least. There may be another way out, though—especially if Coil’s involved.” She grinned wryly. “He’s a snake, after all.”

“But it’s better than nothing,” said Dragon. “I’ve contacted Armsmaster and Director Piggot. They’re coordinating the PRT response now.” She glanced at me. “Annatar, unless you think you have anything else to offer, Piggot wants the Wards to fall back as a reserve force now. You’ll be called back in if and when it comes to an assault on the shelter, or we find Valefor elsewhere.”

I grimaced. “I was hoping to finish this quickly.”

“Endbringer shelters are defensible,” Tattletale said dryly. “That’s kind of what happens when you build a bunker, even if it’s intended to defend from giant monsters instead of capes. With any luck, we can get him contained, and that’s enough for now.”

“I don’t like leaving it half-finished,” I grumbled.

“You’re not,” said Dragon firmly. “You’re leaving this part of the job to us. We’ll call you when you’re needed, Annatar.”

“All right.” I sighed and shrugged. “You’re right. Vilya’s not going to be any more help on this one. Sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“It was worth a shot,” said Tattletale. “And, hey, you did a lot for _me_.” She winked. “Always nice to get the scoop on a hero’s limitations, as an aspiring mercenary.”

“That reminds me.” I met her eyes. “Panacea said to tell you that if you didn’t get your act together, she’d kill you.”

Tattletale rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’m shaking in my boots. Spare me.”

I considered the thinker for a moment. “If you had to fight Panacea, you’d lose. Badly.”

“You think so?” Tattletale snorted. “She’s hanging by a thread. She feels like she can’t rely on anyone—and, given her family, she’s not even wrong. And I have stuff on her she doesn’t even know about. I’m not scared of _Panacea_.”

“You should be,” I said. “If you think you can break her, I promise you—you’re wrong.”

“I….” Suddenly, Tattletale met my eyes and fell silent, mouth still open. “Your Ring,” she murmured. It wasn’t a question.

“And even if she didn’t get to you,” I said quietly, “ _I would_.”

“Annatar,” Dragon said warningly, but I ignored her.

Tattletale’s mouth failed to close for a moment. Then she managed it, her eyes fixed on mine. She licked her lips. “Message received.”

I nodded once and turned to Dragon. “Where are the other Wards now?”

“Headed back to PRT headquarters,” Dragon said, faint disapproval in her voice. “I can find their exact location if you want, but you can probably just connect with them by radio.”

I nodded. “I’ll do that. Good luck, Dragon.”

“Same to you, Annatar.”


	70. Chapter 70

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @frustratedFreeboota, @skyrunner, and @BeaconHill for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

“Fuck,” Krouse swore, pushing his chair back, staring at the computer screen.

 _DEFEAT_. The word stared back at him, red and insulting.

“Hey, it’s not like you have time to practice,” said Luke dryly from across the room.

“Still,” growled Krouse. “I used to be _good_ at this shit.” He gave his teammate a baleful glare. Luke wasn’t even looking at him; his nose was in a book. “Since when do you read in your spare time, anyway? You were on the team too.”

Luke cracked a grin. “Since I found out that no practice makes for terrible play. Sucking isn’t fun.”

“Fuck,” Krouse said again, looking back at the screen. He slammed his hand down on the mouse and tapped the button to close the window with perhaps a little more force than necessary.

“Frustrated?” Luke asked, still without looking up from his book.

“No shit,” said Krouse, running a hand through his hair. That hand then came down to his face and rubbed at his chin. _I need to shave,_ he thought, feeling the stubble.

He wouldn’t, though. Not for at least a couple of days more. There never seemed to be a point to grooming regularly anymore.

“Hey, relax,” Luke advised. “What’s to worry about? It’s nice to have a day off.”

“I’d rather be _doing_ something,” Krouse replied. “You know, trying to be useful? I realize this is foreign to you.”

Luke snorted. “Nice. Real mature.”

Krouse rolled his eyes and didn’t reply. For a moment he just drummed his fingers rapidly on his thigh.

_What were the combos, again? Q-Q-W, Q-W-E, Q-E-W…_

Fuck. Earth Bet didn’t even have all the same games, and those it _did_ have _he couldn’t play anymore._

“I feel like a fucking cripple,” he exploded suddenly. “It’s like I can’t use my fingers anymore. They just don’t fucking _work_.”

“Try your legs,” came Jess’ voice from the next room over. “Then we’ll talk.”

Luke chuckled. “She’s got you there, dude.”

Krouse bared his teeth for a moment before looking down at his hands. He flexed his fingers, stretching out his palms, before curling them again, relaxing. This pulsing motion he repeated a few times. It was a stretch he’d learned from a piano teacher as a kid, and one that had served him well in the past.

_The good old days. Fucking hell._

“Hey, Krouse!” Jess’ voice came again.

“I’m ignoring you!” Krouse called back.

“Either get over here or turn on the news over there, then!”

Krouse sighed and stood up. “I swear, Jess, if this is about that case 53 in Boston again—”

“Oh, fuck you, and no, this is important. Come, now!”

 _Oh. Shit._ Krouse jogged over into the next room. Jess was in her wheelchair, watching the television. Krouse followed her gaze.

“Is that a hole in that building?” he asked.

She looked over at him and it struck him just how _good_ she was at that _what are you, a moron?_ expression. She didn’t say a word, just looked back at the TV.

 “ _The Fallen, a villain group which worships the Endbringers, are reported to have attacked the PRT press conference being held at the Stansfield Pavilion,_ ” the anchor was saying. “ _Witnesses report a man in a costume resembling the Simurgh. Beyond that, we know little at this time. The PRT has yet to release a statement. More details will—_ ”

Krouse’s phone rang. He reached into his pocket to pull it out and strode out of the room, closing the door behind him. “Trickster here.”

“ _Trickster. I have a job I need you to do._ ”

Krouse raised an eyebrow at Coil’s phrasing. “Me? Not the Travelers, then.”

“ _No. You, specifically._ ”

Krouse smirked. “All right. Lay it on me, boss; what do you need?”

* * *

 

Krouse took a deep pull of his cigarette, enjoying the warmth of the smoke in his lungs as he gazed up at the evening sky. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, dipping so that the tips of the mountains were just starting to cover it, and the long rays of light were painting the clouds in rich oranges and pinks. His long shadow stretched along the roof beside him, the top hat making for quite the imposing silhouette.

He shifted the little cancer stick to one side of his mouth and then exhaled through the other. The smoke poured out, surrounding his head for a moment in a foggy halo.

His radio spoke up. “ _Trickster, are you in position?_ ” Coil’s voice was tense, even through the faint static.

“Yeah,” he replied, tapping his earpiece. “She’s due by any minute now.” He glanced down at the nearly-empty street below. “No sign of her yet.”

“ _You’re watching?_ ”

“Of course I’m watching. It’s the job, isn’t it?”

“ _Good,_ ” said Coil. “ _Carry on, and be careful. Annatar is dangerous._ ”

Krouse snorted. “She’s a kid.”

“ _A kid with an extremely dangerous power. You, of all people, should know about that._ ”

Krouse grimaced. _Message received, time to stop prodding the villain with the best chance at helping Noelle._ “Yeah, I know. I’ll be careful.”

“ _Good. Let me know when the operation is complete._ ”

Krouse didn’t bother to reply, just sat down cross-legged on the edge of the roof, looking down at the street. He took another pull of his cigarette.

 _I’ve been up here for almost an hour,_ he thought. _Can the bitch just show up already?_

There had been a firefight a few blocks away. He’d called it in, but Coil had told him not to worry about it. He wasn’t paid to worry, so fair enough. But it had set him a bit on edge, and the long wait hadn’t helped any.

But it was finally paying off. There she was, rounding a corner. Annatar’s silver armor caught the light of the afternoon sun in dazzling ways, setting beams of light reflecting in all directions.

“Target in sight,” he murmured into his radio.

“ _Good. You know what to do._ ”

Krouse followed her. He kept to the rooftops, when possible, taking his time and swapping himself with whatever was available, using air to make up the difference if necessary. There was no rush.

He followed Annatar down a few blocks, and then at last things got interesting. The PRT was there in force, carefully dissolving containment foam from one civilian after another and clapping them into handcuffs. The cacophony of officers Mirandizing and explaining the situation to the civilians made it hard to hear his target, but he still caught when her name was spoken.

“Annatar!” It was Clockblocker, another of the Wards. He jogged over to her, from where he’d been overseeing the restraining of the civilians. Krouse shrank into the roof, carefully maintaining as much cover as he could. “Dragon… any progress?”

Annatar nodded, and Krouse had to strain to catch her words. “…Valefor’s… Endbringer…. blueprints now. …Need my… here?”

“Yes.” That was Armsmaster, walking over to the two Wards. His loud voice was clear and audible. “The faster we can clear these civilians of master effects, the better. How quickly do you think you can process them?”

“Shouldn’t… long,” Annatar said. “Let’s… work.” And, at long last, she reached behind her and pulled out that rectangular box which was hooked at the small of her back.

Krouse pulled out the small, heavy stone he’d been carrying in his pocket. He took a moment to glance around the street. A few more heroes were down there, but—as Coil had promised—none of them could fly.

Annatar leaned down and whispered something into the box’s latch. It swung wide, and inside, a small star of red and gold glimmered.

Krouse didn’t hesitate. A flex of his power, and the stone and that shining thing in the box had been linked. In a moment, the Ring was in his hand, and the stone was in Annatar’s.

For a moment he stared down at the golden band in his palm. The Ring was bright and fiery, and slightly warm to the touch, even through his gloves.

Krouse had bought jewelry before, for Noelle, but it wasn’t something he did often. He couldn’t really afford to spend that much, even on Noelle. But it had happened, and when it had, he’d shopped around to find the best pieces he could afford.

The Ring of Fire trumped them all. It was exquisite.

Then Annatar was shouting in wordless horror and rage, and the moment was broken. _Now to escape. Good thing they don’t have any fliers._

He turned and ran along the building as fast as he dared, looking over at that rooftop where he’d first been stationed, and at the heavy knapsack he’d left there. A moment later, and he was several blocks away, and the knapsack was in his place. Another run across that roof was followed by another swap into an empty closet in an office building with one small window. Then down to the last knapsack, barely visible from this angle, inside the third-floor window of an abandoned apartment.

The room was bare of decoration or furniture, save for the duffel bag he’d placed there a little more than an hour ago. He pulled jeans and a t-shirt out of the bag and changed quickly, carefully moving the Ring from the pocket of his costume into his jeans. He glanced periodically out the window to check for pursuers, but no one seemed to have found him.

Once his costume was safely stowed, he slung the duffel over his shoulder and looked down into the street below. There was a car parked on the side of the road, just across the street from his window--red, sleek, and sporty. He could just see into the driver’s side window, where a man in an outfit almost exactly like the one he was wearing now was idly drumming on the steering wheel, waiting. Other than that one vehicle, the road was completely empty.

_Coil, you magnificent son of a bitch._

Krouse swapped with the man, and was suddenly behind the wheel of the getaway car. He allowed himself a sigh of relief as he patted his pants pocket. The Ring of Fire was still there.

He tapped his earpiece again. “Job’s done. Making my getaway now.”

“ _Well done._ ” Coil sounded audibly relieved. “ _Make for the rendezvous._ ”

Krouse did so. He was well and truly entrenched among other cars by the time he started seeing police or PRT vehicles on the road with him. When they didn’t flag him down, he knew he had escaped.

On his way to the rendezvous, he found himself pulling the Ring out of his pocket and running it through the fingers of one hand while the other worked the wheel. Coil had been clear: _do not put the Ring on._ But Krouse couldn’t deny he was tempted.

 _Don’t be an idiot,_ he told himself fiercely. _This shit’s tinkertech! You don’t know what it could do._

 But the Ring was bright and warm, and the temptation lingered in his brain like an errant gnat.

* * *

 

Coil was waiting at his desk when Krouse walked into the office. “Welcome back,” he said, his voice perfectly clear despite the fabric of his costume covering his face. “You have it.”

Krouse nodded, his mask once more secure over his face. “Yeah.”

There was a pause.

“Well?” Coil asked impatiently. “Where is it?”

“Oh, right.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Krouse pulled his hand out of his pocket. The Red Ring glittered in his palm like the embers of a dying fire. Its crimson light brought forth images of the setting sun, shining through a thin layer of clouds, diminished at the close of the day, but undimmed.

Krouse had to struggle to force himself to take those last two steps to Coil’s desk. Actually reaching down and placing the Ring upon the desk was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. The Ring was heavy in his hand--heavier than gold, more like lead. He was Atlas, carrying the weight of the world in his hand. It felt _wrong_ to put it down. It was like letting Noelle down, or like giving up on the dream of going home. In the end, actually taking that final step, and pulling his fingers away from it, was almost a spasm, almost involuntary, as though he was pulling his hand away from an open flame. As he stepped away again, he found that he was shivering.

Coil reached out and plucked the Ring from the desk. He held it up for examination. Krouse hugged himself, rubbing his forearms through the cloth of his costume for warmth. “Bit chilly down here,” Krouse said.

“Is it?” Coil asked absently, and Krouse knew his eyes were fixed on the Ring. “I think it’s rather warm, actually.”

As he turned the Ring around and around in his fingers, Krouse stopped rubbing his arms and had to grip tightly, his hands clawing into his arms like talons, to keep himself from lunging for the beautiful thing. “You, uh,” he cleared his throat. “You going to put that on?”

“Yes, of course,” Coil said slowly. “Just… admiring it. It really is a marvelous piece of craftsmanship, isn’t it?”

Krouse swallowed and licked his dry lips. “Yeah.”

Slowly, Coil brought his hands together, and his right gingerly slipped the Ring onto his left. A warm breeze suddenly seemed to pulse through the room, blowing Krouse’s exposed hair back where it wasn’t pinned under his hat. Once it passed, he was shivering even more in the sudden frigidity it had left behind.

Coil stared down at the Ring upon his finger. “Well,” he said, and there was an odd note to his voice. Krouse felt he recognized it. Had he heard a similar tone somewhere before? “So _that’s_ what it feels like.”

“Yeah, uh,” Krouse swallowed. “I uh, wondered. You think I could—”

“You could _what_?” Coil barked, suddenly furious, his head snapping up, his hidden eyes staring straight into Krouse’s. His shadow seemed to fill the room like a specter, and the man himself seemed to grow in stature until Krouse was little more than a mouse before a giant. “You could try it on? You want to take it now, is that it? You think that because you were the one who took it—under _my_ orders, and with help only I could give—that you _deserve_ it now, is that it?”

Krouse found that he was backing away. “No, no, sorry. It was—sorry. Just a thought. Never mind. It’s yours, boss.”

“Yes.” And suddenly, the moment was gone, as though it had never been, and Krouse was just Krouse, and Coil was just Coil, looking down at the Ring on his finger. Gently, his right index finger began to run along it as it sat upon his left, as one might stroke a beloved pet. “Yes, it’s mine. My protector, my shield. Mine.” He glanced up again. “Thank you for your service, Trickster. I’ll let you know when I need you again.”

“Right.” Krouse turned to leave. Then he hesitated. Wasn’t there something else?

He glanced back. “What about Noelle?”

“Hm?” Coil wasn’t looking at him. He was staring down at the Ring on his finger again.

“Any progress on her?”

“Oh. Yes. I have a couple of leads I’m currently following up on. I’ll let you know as soon as any of my agents make progress.”

Krouse nodded. “Panacea’s with the Wards now, right? Do you think we could—”

Coil looked up, and his shadow seemed to flicker, as if it wanted to grow again, and was only just holding itself in check. “I will tell you,” he said, slowly and clearly, “as soon as any of my agents make progress.”

“Right.” Krouse licked his lips.

“You may go. Thank you.”

“Right. Sorry.” He left without another word, but the cold didn’t abate.


	71. Flicker 8.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @skyrunner, and @BeaconHill for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

I stared down into the empty Jewelry Box in my hands. My body was slumped against the brick wall behind me. I wasn’t sure my legs would carry me now.

The Box rattled slightly in my shaking hands. The world around me was a flurry of activity. PRT officers were running around, shouting, getting in and out of vans, trying to salvage the situation, even as a few continued processing enthralled civilians.

“Annatar,” Sophia murmured beside me. “Are you okay?”

“It’s gone,” I mumbled. I could barely hear my own voice. “Narya’s gone.”

She reached out and gingerly closed the empty Jewelry Box. Her hand lingered on its lid. “We’ll get it back,” she said. “I promise.”

The Box fell from my nerveless fingers with a clatter. My hands dropped to my sides as I raised my head to look up at the sky. The first stars were just starting to peek out from behind the haze and smog. The last light of the sunset was painting the world like a coating of liquid gold.

“The sun is setting,” I murmured. “It’s going to be a long night.”

Sophia’s hand slipped into mine and squeezed. It wasn’t very effective, through my gauntlet, but I appreciated the gesture. “We’ll be all right,” she told me.

I squeezed back, but Vilya thrummed forebodingly on my finger, and my heart did not rest easy.

“Whoever it was got away.” Armsmaster’s voice broke through the haze over my mind as he turned back to me. His hand dropped from the side of his helmet. He had been speaking quietly with someone over the radio. “Annatar, can you see anything with Vilya? Panacea, are you getting anything with Nenya?”

Panacea shook her head. “Nenya’s only giving me vague impressions when I search for Narya.”

“Rings of Power are hidden,” I said. “Even Nenya can’t find Narya as easily as that, unless Narya’s Bearer wants to be found. And Vilya can’t see its future unless Narya’s Bearer wants it to be seen.”

Armsmaster’s jaw worked for a moment, as though he was chewing his tongue. I got the distinct impression that he was holding back a curse.

“Do we even know who it was?” Sophia asked. “What power did they use? Did anyone recognize it?”

“No,” said Armsmaster, “but I’ve contacted Dragon, and she has Tattletale working on it right now. We should—”

He broke off. His head turned slightly, as though he was looking at something in the periphery of his vision. “Okay,” he said. “Tattletale believes the culprit to be one of the Travelers.”

“Aegis mentioned them,” Clockblocker said. “They were at the meeting about Bakuda. Nomadic villains, right?”

“Supposedly, but they’ve been in the Bay for nearly two months now. Tattletale claims they’re in Coil’s employ,” said Armsmaster. “We’ll have to launch an offensive against Coil to get Narya back, if this is true.”

“Coil’s been operating for years,” Aegis said. “We don’t have _time_ for a protracted fight. Valefor can enthrall more people every day he’s free!”

“Which is why it’s important that he stay contained,” Armsmaster said, tapping the side of his helmet, near his ear. “Protectorate, how is containment going?” His voice echoed in my radio as he communicated over the Protectorate/Wards public channel.

“ _We’ve secured the location Dragon pointed to on the west side,_ ” came Miss Militia’s voice. “ _Assault and I are in position to intervene if Valefor and Eligos make an attempt to escape their shelter._ ”

“Good. And the north side?”

“ _Velocity here. Battery, Triumph and I are in position. We’ve secured the north exit from the shelter._ ”

“Good. I’ve got the south exit under control, and Dragon will come reinforce me here as soon as she and Tattletale are finished.” Armsmaster turned to us. “Wards, you should all get back to base. We can secure the area from here.”

“Yes, sir,” said Aegis. He turned to me and Sophia, then hesitated. “Shadow Stalker…” he sighed. “Just help her.”

Sophia nodded beside me. “Come on, Annatar,” she said gently. “Let’s get back home.”

I swallowed and realized that I was shaking, and had been for quite some time. I forced myself to fall still. “I’m okay,” I said. “I’m fine.”

She looked at me. I couldn’t see her face under her mask. “I know,” she said. “Come on.” She pulled me into a van by the hand, sat me down in a seat, and held the door open for Panacea.

“I knew this might happen,” I said quietly. “I knew, and I didn’t—I should have done more to protect them. Narya.”

“Hindsight’s 20/20,” said Sophia, her eyes on me as she held the door open for Clockblocker. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

I stared at her. “A villain has a Ring of Power,” I said hoarsely. “And it’s my fault.”

She shut the door and turned to me. “No, it isn’t,” she said. “It’s theirs. Maybe you could have done better. So could everyone. That doesn’t make it all your fault.” She sighed and shook her head. “You’re shivering.”

I forced myself to grow still again. “I’m fine.”

She looked at me doubtfully, then sighed. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it. Just… take care of yourself, Taylor. We have time.”

“How much time?” I asked. My chest felt tight, my lungs didn’t seem to want to inflate properly. I looked down at the floor. “How long do we have, until Coil learns to use Narya properly? How long until he rallies an army to his cause? How long until we’re embroiled in a war, Ring-Bearer on Ring-Bearer? How long—”

Then Sophia’s arms were around me, pulling me close. “Long enough,” she said.

* * *

 

“So,” Piggot said grimly. “Coil has Narya, and _we_ don’t have a way to counter master effects.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. My voice sounded weak, like a child’s, even in my own ears.

Piggot didn’t reply. She just closed her eyes and rubbed at her temples.

“If it helps,” said Sophia, “We’re all basically immune to master effects. It’ll take a lot more than Valefor to break any of us.”

“We, as in Annatar’s Ring-Bearers,” Piggot grunted without looking up.

“Yes.”

“Yes, _ma’am_ ,” Piggot corrected, looking up at Sophia for a moment before turning back to me. She just watched me for a moment before speaking. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine.”

“She’s in shock,” said Sophia beside me. “She needs to rest.”

Piggot sighed and nodded. “Even you’re human, I guess,” she said dryly. “Okay. We need you on alert, so I don’t think I can send you home, but I order you to get some rest. Shadow Stalker, see to it that she does.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Sophia gratefully.

I gritted my teeth for a moment. _Narya is gone, in the hands of the enemy, a madman is running amok in my city, people are being imprisoned to keep them from triggering compulsions, and you want me to get bedrest?_

There was a rattling in my ears. I looked down. My hands were shaking. Slowly, I forced them to still. I clenched my fists once, and then released them. “Okay,” I said. “All right. Lead the way.”

Sophia led me back down to the Wards HQ. The others were all there. The door to the console room hung open, and Carlos was at the seat, his headset askew so that one ear was free to hear the rest of us.

Everyone was looking at us when the elevator door opened. I had the distinct impression that they had been talking about me.

Sophia nudged me. “Get out of that armor,” she said. “Clear off the couch, everyone. Taylor needs to lie down. Director’s orders.”

“Shock?” Amy asked. “I might be able to help.”

“Please,” I said. “We don’t have time to waste.”

“We also don’t know what to do,” Carlos told me. “We know where Valefor is, but we haven’t even been able to confirm that he and Eligos are the only capes they have, let alone how many hostages they might have. We have no idea where Coil or the Travelers are, except that they’re probably south of Downtown. And we don’t have the manpower to mount a search.”

“Finding Narya is important,” I said furiously. “More important than making sure we have an _army_ at the perimeter—”

“We _don’t_ have an army,” said Aegis grimly. “I don’t think you get it, Annatar. When Valefor crashed your van on the way to the fight, earlier, he crashed almost every PRT van we had in the field. Almost a third of the local PRT’s field personnel were either killed or put out of action in about a minute.”

I stared at him. Swallowed. “I didn’t realize it was that bad,” I said.

“Can we _stop_ ,” said Sophia forcefully, “stressing Taylor out before Amy’s either healed her or she’s had some sleep? Please?”

“Thank you, Sophia,” said Amy. “Get your armor off and then come lie down, Taylor.”

I allowed myself to be led to a changing room. I was left alone for a minute to change, and then brought over to the couch. Amy laid me down and set her hand on my cheek. “This won’t take long,” she promised.

It was true. Almost at once, I started to feel better. The cold, clammy feeling that had been encroaching upon me for the past hour faded. The fog that seemed to fill my head dissipated, and with it the faint beginnings of a headache I’d been feeling.

“You’re a little dehydrated,” said Amy absently, her eyes closed. “Get some water once I’m done.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thank you, Amy.”

“Don’t mention it. I’d rather fix shock than a gunshot wound any day.” She pulled her hand away. “You should be better now. Go grab a drink, and then we can talk plans.”

I nodded and stood up. As I crossed the room towards the sink, I heard Carlos’ voice at the console. “Wards are all back at HQ, Ma’am. Panacea just cured Annatar’s shock. We’re ready if you need us.”

“What’s going on?” I called back to him as I filled a glass.

“All the ongoing hero operations are checking in,” Aegis said. “Standard M/S procedure.”

“Can you put it on speakers?”

A moment later, Armsmaster’s voice filled the room. “ _Dragon and I have the south side of the perimeter under control. Tattletale was escorted to a rendezvous with Faultline. They’re open to assisting with the Fallen, if we hire them._ ”

“ _Good._ ” That was Piggot. “ _We’ll probably do that. I’ll try to negotiate terms with them as soon as I have a minute. West perimeter, check in._ ”

“ _Miss Militia here. Assault and I have control of this sector. We’ve isolated the locations Dragon marked. M/S procedures are unbroken._ ”

“ _Good. North side, check in._ ”

There was silence.

“ _North side?_ ” Armsmaster’s voice was sharp. “ _Velocity, Battery, Triumph. Report in!_ ”

“ _Wards console, I’ve granted you access to Protectorate helmet cams,_ ” said Piggot. “ _Access Battery’s helmet feed now._ ”

Aegis fiddled with the console. “ _Working on it, Ma’am._ ”

Soon an image appeared on one of the screens. The night sky twinkled merrily above the discarded camera. There was no moon tonight.

“Ma’am, this camera was removed. Battery isn’t wearing it.”

“The sun has set,” I found myself murmuring.

A couple of the other Wards looked at me. Their faces were pale.

“What’s happening?” Vista asked softly.

“Aegis.” It was Amy speaking. Her eyes were downcast, and a curtain of mousy hair hid her face from view. “Call a master/stranger alert. Now.”

He glanced back at her. “Did Valefor break through?”

She shook her head.

“ _What the hell is happening, boss?_ ” That was Assault’s voice. I hadn’t spoken to him often, but I didn’t need to know him well to recognize the fear in his voice, sharp and deep. “ _Where’s Battery? What’s happened?_ ”

“ _The north side perimeter has been compromised._ ” Armsmaster said grimly. “ _I’m ordering an increase in M/S threat level._ ”

“We need to call everyone back,” said Panacea, looking up. Her face was practically grey, so pale had it become. “We need to call them back now.”

“What is it?” Aegis said sharply. “I need a reason, Amy! I need to know what’s happening!”

Vilya was cold on my finger. A long, dark night was ahead.

Amy swallowed. “It’s not Valefor,” she said hoarsely. “It’s Heartbreaker.”


	72. Flicker 8.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @skyrunner, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

“This is Aegis,” said Carlos into the console microphone, his voice sharp. “Panacea reports that Heartbreaker is active, and that the north perimeter is compromised.”

“ _Heartbreaker?_ ” Piggot’s voice was low and furious. “ _We’re talking about the Montreal villain? What the hell is he doing here?_ ”

“ _Looking for his son, I assume,_ ” said Armsmaster grimly. “ _Regent’s identity was mistakenly released after his escape._ ”

“ _Damn. Armsmaster, Miss Militia, fall back to the Rig. We need to regroup._ ”

“ _On our way,_ ” replied Miss Militia.

“We’ll lose our grip on Valefor,” I said, sitting up. “We can’t just let him get away.”

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Carlos said, looking back at me. “We need a plan, and we’ve already lost three Protectorate heroes today. We can’t just keep them out there to get picked off.”

“Fuck,” Sophia swore. “First the Fallen, and now Heartbreaker? What is this, a supervillain convention?”

“We’ve been escalating,” said Sam softly. His face was pale. “Ever since Annatar joined, we’ve been getting stronger by the day. We shut down the Undersiders completely. We stopped Bakuda from blacking out the entire eastern seaboard. We fought Leviathan to a standstill. We arrested all of the Merchants in a single night.” He swallowed. “Now the chickens are coming home to roost. They’re escalating back.”

Silence fell for a moment as the Wards considered that. I broke it.

“We’ve come too far to turn aside now,” I said. “We can’t go back to the way things were. There’s no status quo to go back to.”

“So what do we do?” Missy asked. “What’s your plan, Annatar?”

“Less a plan, and more an intent,” I said. “We don’t let them win. We don’t give ground unless we have to, and we always take back what we lose. This is our city, and we will make them pay dearly for every inch of it they take, and every second for which they hold it.”

“Damn straight,” Sophia said through gritted teeth.

“But what do we _do_?” Dennis asked. “How do we start?”

“We need to get Narya back,” said Amy. “Without Narya, we’re bringing knives to a gunfight. We need a way to counter Heartbreaker and Valefor.”

“Narya is how we’ll mitigate the damage, but it can’t _heal_ what they do,” I said. “Unless we can find and beat Coil within a couple of days, we need to focus on the masters.”

“Coil’s been operating in the bay for years,” said Chris. “It’ll take more than a couple days to shut him down. More like months, with perfect planning and execution. It’s not something we can just throw together overnight.”

“We don’t have months,” countered Sam. “Every day Heartbreaker and Valefor are here, they’re going to hurt more people. I have family in this city. I’m not letting him get to them.”

“We all have family here,” I said.

“For better or worse,” muttered Sam under his breath.

“None of us want them put in harm’s way,” I continued, glancing at him. He didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. “That’s why it’s important that we act quickly.”

“It’s not that simple, Annatar,” said Carlos quietly.

“Sure it is,” I replied, a faint, sharp smile coming to my lips. “We’re always afraid of escalating with the villains because we’re afraid they’ll escalate back. This time, they’re the ones pushing us. But we’re capes too.” My smile widened to a grin, with all my teeth bared. “They’ve stepped on a viper. The bite will be swift.”

* * *

 

“What do we know?” Piggot asked.

“Not a great deal,” said Dragon.

The meeting was small. Piggot was there, at the head of the table. Armsmaster was at her right, and beside him was Dragon, in a suit of golden armor. I was to the Director’s left, and to mine was Aegis. That was all. The five of us were responsible for deciding the fate of Brockton Bay.

It was daunting. But it didn’t feel wrong in any way. Who else should be here, after all?

“We’ve narrowed down the areas of interest to sectors of Brockton Bay,” Dragon continued, gesturing over the map on the table between us. “Coil, of course, will almost certainly be located somewhere in his territory south of Downtown. We’ve marked a general area around the Endbringer shelter Valefor was holed up in as his ‘territory’, and we’re not sure exactly how much of that territory he controls at this point. We’re assuming he’s not in a position to impinge on Empire’s territory to the south, at least for now.”

“Probably safe,” Piggot agreed. “He’s a master. He’ll go for easier prey first. Civilians and the like.” She grimaced. “Dammit. And Heartbreaker?”

“We’re not sure exactly where he’s setting up,” said Dragon. “Right now, all we know is that he’s somewhere uptown, north of Valefor. I’ve got drones scouting the area, looking for any sign of him, but they haven’t turned anything up yet. I expect results fairly soon, even with… well…”

“Even with Velocity, Battery, and Triumph advising him,” Armsmaster finished for her. “They have knowledge of our procedures and the particular workings of the ENE branch of the Protectorate and PRT which we can’t discount. Dragon isn’t technically associated with this branch, however, and so they may not know as much about her capabilities.

“I work with you fairly often, though,” said Dragon. “We can’t depend on that.”

“Okay,” said Aegis, shaking his head. “Can someone catch me and Annatar up? What’s Heartbreaker even doing here?” He glanced at Armsmaster. “You said something about Regent, on the radio?”

Armsmaster nodded. “When Regent escaped custody, his face and name were released onto the PRT’s internal bulletin, according to procedure. While cross-referencing, Dragon found a match for his face in the villain Hijack—Jean-Paul Vasil.”

“Vasil,” I repeated. “That’s Heartbreaker’s surname, isn’t it?”

Armsmaster nodded. “Regent is apparently his son,” he said. “We believe he intercepted that bulletin, or an agent of his did, and that’s why he’s here now.”

“Can we get in touch with Regent?” I asked.

Piggot blinked at me. “You’re aware he’s a murderer?”

“He’s also Fume’s former teammate,” I countered. “And he must have left Heartbreaker for a reason. He might be more than happy to help us fight his father.”

“He was also broken out of prison by the same cape who stole Narya from you,” said Dragon quietly.

My head snapped to her. She sighed, the sound layered with static from her suit. “We’ve determined the thief to be Trickster,” she said. “Tattletale provided some assistance. His power allows him to switch the locations of two objects of similar mass. He used it both to extract Regent and to steal Narya.”

“So Regent’s with Coil, now,” Aegis said.

“He always was,” I corrected. “The Undersiders were on his payroll. That’s what Tattletale said, isn’t it?”

“Right,” Dragon agreed.

“Which means,” said Piggot grimly, “we now have three human-masters—four, if you count whoever’s wearing Narya—to deal with. It’s getting a little crowded in my city.”

“We need a plan of action,” said Armsmaster. “We can’t let Coil keep Narya, we can’t let Valefor continue to terrorize this city, and we _certainly_ can’t let Heartbreaker keep three of our heroes.”

“We’re outmanned,” Aegis said quietly. “We have more capes than Coil or Valefor, probably, but if we try to attack one of them, the other might see it as an opportunity. And do we even know how many capes Heartbreaker has?”

“No,” said Dragon grimly. “More than just himself, Velocity, Triumph, and Battery, though.”

“If we can, I think my highest priority is rescuing our teammates from Heartbreaker,” said Armsmaster. “Especially Battery.”

The room suddenly seemed to grow colder. I shuddered, partly at the sudden chill, but mostly in nausea. “We might already be too late to, well…” I murmured.

“Of course,” Armsmaster said lowly. “But she’s my teammate, and my other teammate’s wife. I have to _try_.”

“We probably have no way to do anything for her until we get Narya back,” said Piggot. “We should probably prioritize that.”

“Every moment Heartbreaker is free is another chance for him to scar someone for life,” I said grimly. “I’m inclined to let Coil keep Narya, for now—let it burn away at his soul until all that’s left is a husk. We should focus on stopping Heartbreaker and Valefor from hurting anyone more than they already have.”

“We don’t even really have the facilities to keep that many compromised people,” said Piggot dryly. “Especially if Heartbreaker has any strong brutes. But we can try.”

“In that case, we need to fence him in,” said Armsmaster with a grim frown on his bearded lips. “I’d suggest we try to enclose him in this area here.” He pointed at an area of the map in the north part of the city, just south of the Docks. “I think we should also try to get in touch with Lung. I don’t exactly like the idea of working with him, but he can hopefully help us reinforce the northern perimeter.”

My eyes lingered on the map as Armsmaster lifted his finger. There was a sickly feeling of unease in my stomach as I considered his idea, but I didn’t know why.

“We need to call in reinforcements for this one,” said Piggot grimly. “There aren’t enough of us, even considering the Wards’ immunity to master effects.”

“It’s _Heartbreaker_ ,” Dragon stressed. “We can’t call in anyone really powerful, because we can’t afford to have them turned against us if they get unlucky.”

“We don’t have enough _people_ ,” Piggot snarled, and there was something raw in her voice. “I don’t need fucking Eidolon or Alexandria, Dragon, I need _people_. More than a third of my men are dead or injured. I don’t have the manpower to hold that perimeter from a _normal_ cape, and Heartbreaker is so hilariously fucking _not-normal_ that I don’t even know where to start dealing with him!”

“We can evacuate,” said Aegis quietly.

“And leave all the people Valefor and Heartbreaker have already mastered?” Armsmaster asked. “Even if we did, who knows how many sleeper agents would slip through in the commotion? No, we can’t pull out now. Not unless there’s no other choice.”

“There might not _be_ another choice,” said Piggot grimly. “I can’t hold that perimeter, Armsmaster. If I ask my men to do it, I’m just sending Heartbreaker more people to play with.”

_People to play with…_

Something clicked, and the bottom dropped out of my stomach. “My dad lives there,” I said.

Silence fell for a moment.

“Fuck,” breathed Aegis.

“We have men stationed around your father,” said Piggot quickly, rummaging in a pocket of her coat. “I’ll call Renick, see when we last heard from them.”

I was already reaching out with Vilya. Was Dad in danger?

The answer came readily. Yes, he was—imminent danger.

“He’s in trouble,” I said. “I have to go help him.”

“I can’t mount a rescue op,” Piggot protested. “I don’t have the men! We don’t even know where Heartbreaker is—”

“He’s my dad,” I said simply, already reaching to buckle my sword-belt on. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Annatar, you can’t go alone,” protested Aegis.

I turned to him and clasped my hands behind my back. “Then send someone with me,” I said.

He grimaced. “Annatar—”

“It’s my dad. I _can’t_ leave him.”

“Of course not,” said Dragon gently. “We can spare two more Wards to go with her, can’t we? It shouldn’t be a long mission. Send Vista and Shadow Stalker. With Vista, they can be in and out quickly, and Shadow Stalker is the best infiltrator we have.”

Piggot gritted her teeth. “I don’t like this,” she said. Then her phone buzzed. She looked down at it, and her frown grew even more thunderous. “Renick,” she said by way of explanation, looking up at me, “Your dad’s patrol just checked in a few minutes ago. They called for reinforcements.”

“I’ll get them out, too,” I said.

“Assuming they’re not already compromised,” said Armsmaster grimly, “and you’re not walking into a trap.”

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. “Then that’s a risk I have to take,” I said. “The last villain who hurt my father is dead. I’m not letting this one get away with it free.”

“Okay,” said Aegis with a sigh. “Okay. Take Shadow Stalker and Vista. Come back quickly, and be careful. We can’t back you up in there.”

Piggot put a hand over her eyes. “I can’t give that order,” she said. Her voice was strained as though she was a hair’s breadth from collapsing in exhaustion and stress. “I _can’t_ send three Wards into the territory of an international criminal master.”

“The alternative,” I said quietly, “is for one Ward to go alone.”

“I’ll stick you in confinement.”

“For trying to rescue my dad?”

Our eyes met. For a few moments I held her gaze.

“I’m not running away from this,” I said softly. “I’m not leaving him behind.”

Her eyes flickered. The silence stretched.

“Do you know, when you do that?” she asked quietly. “Do you know exactly what makes it all fit together, or is it some kind of instinct?”

“A bit of both,” I replied.

Her jaw worked for a moment, and then she looked away. “Get going,” she said. “Don’t get them killed.”

“I won’t, Ma’am.”


	73. Interlude 8b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @themanwhowas and @BeaconHill for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

“Hey, Rachel.”

Bitch gave Alec a slight glower as she passed him. He was on the couch of their little apartment/cell in Coil’s base, prone and sprawled across the cushions, a controller in his hands and his eyes on the TV.

Bitch passed behind the couch without a word, whistling for her dogs as she approached the door of the little flat.

“Headed out?” he called.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Where to?”

“Dunno. Job.”

“Mm. See you.”

She didn’t answer. A moment later, he heard the door opening and closing behind her.

It had been less than a month since Leviathan’s attack. It had been nearly as long since Alec had last been given a job by Coil.

He didn’t really mind. He had a living space to himself—one where he didn’t have to see that asshole Krouse very often, thank God—all of his creature comforts taken care of, and a stipend large enough to keep him plenty occupied. When he got really bored, he went out to help Bitch with her jobs, or hung out with one of the other Travelers. Never Krouse, though.

It wasn’t bad, really, just sitting here on another man’s dime.

Alec lazily threw the controller across the room and flopped onto his back. The game had been getting boring anyway. It really was much more interesting to count the cracks in the ceiling.

There weren’t any. Coil kept the base in good shape.

_Holy hell, I’m **bored**._

There was a knock on his door. “Come in!” he called.

It slid open, and the telltale whirring of powered wheels signaled the arrival. “Hey, Jess,” he said.

“Alec. Bitch around?”

“Nah, just went out for a job.”

The whirring stopped as Jess pulled her wheelchair up by his head. “You didn’t go?”

“Didn’t feel like it. You know he never tells me to go anymore.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “I’ll be honest, I’m glad your power didn’t work on the Wards.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Annatar’s fucking scary.”

Alec snorted, craning his neck slightly to look up at her face. “What are you, chicken? Is she too spooky? That’d be a good thing if I’d mastered her.”

“I’m not so sure.” Jess shook her head. “You know Krouse stole one of her modules this afternoon?”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Her lips were pursed.

“Something go wrong?”

She shook her head slowly. “He got the module to Coil, all fine. Except…” She glanced at his face. “Look, Krouse is… not a paragon of good judgement, right?”

“You don’t say?” Alec’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Jess winced. “Still bitter?”

“He _pulled a gun on me_. Yeah, I’m bitter.”

“He was trying to get you out of jail.”

“Don’t care. Fuck him.”

Jess shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m—doesn’t matter. Point is, ever since he got back a couple hours ago, he’s been… well. Weird.”

“More than usual?”

“ _Way_ more. Muttering to himself, pacing, shivering. He keeps saying that it’s cold.”

“Turn up the heater.”

“We _did_. It’s fucking _eighty_ in there. That’s why I left. He’s _still_ shivering.”

Alec blinked. “Huh. Tell him to ease back on the drugs?”

“Ha. Ha. He’s not sick, as far as we can tell—no fever or anything. Marissa’s trying to get him to rest, but he keeps ignoring her, or getting up to pace and mutter some more.” She shuddered slightly. “I’ll be honest, it’s creeping me out.”

“You’re welcome to stay here until he gets over it. Or until, he snaps and kills everyone in there—whichever comes first.”

She rolled his eyes and cuffed the top of his head. “Ass.”

“What?” He gave an exaggerated shrug. “You were the one saying he’s gone off the deep end.”

She glowered down at him, but there was a slight upward quirk to her lips. “Yeah, but you’re still an ass.”

“A mighty _fine_ ass, thank you very much.”

She laughed. “In your dreams.”

“Mighty fine dreams, too.”

“I’m sure.”

“Careful, there. Your eyes might come out if you roll them any harder.”

“Nice of you to be concerned.” Jess glanced down at her watch, then sighed. “I should get on my way. I was going to see Noelle, just thought I’d stop by on my way down. You want me to come by again later?”

“Do what you want,” Alec shrugged. “I’ll be here.”

She glanced at him. Not for the first time, he wished he was better at reading faces. Anger, petulance, displeasure, fear—these he could recognize. Whatever was in Jess’ face was less familiar. “Maybe I’ll stop by,” she said slowly. “Later, Alec.”

“See ya.”

Her wheelchair whirred as it carried her away until it was muffled by the closing door.

Alec shifted on the couch. He sighed. _Maybe I should’ve gone with Bitch._

Jess hadn’t ever asked him to come with her to meet Noelle. He didn’t really know anything about the other girl—just that something was wrong with her powers, and that Coil had offered the Travelers a promise to help them heal her in exchange for their presence and help in the Bay. Privately, Alec didn’t think much of the promise.

Then again, he _was_ a hell of a cynic. Maybe it’d all work out? Either way, it wasn’t really his problem.

His cell phone rang as he was reaching for his controller again. He grabbed the phone instead. “You speak to the Regent,” he said airily. “Grovel, peasant.”

“ _Nice to hear from you, too. How’s Rachel?_ ”

“Oh, you know, pissing all over the base to mark it as her own,” said Alec easily, sitting up straight. “I think she misses you guys. How’s Faultline, Tats?”

“ _Don’t call me that._ ”

“Would you prefer Ta-tas?”

“ _Ha. Ha. Funny. Alec, you don’t have time for this._ ”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “How do you figure?”

“ _Short version? Your father is in Brockton Bay, and Coil’s promised to give him what he wants._ ”

Alec missed being bored. The fear that drove like a spike into his heart was hot and sharp. “Me.”

“ _Yes._ ”

Alec closed his eyes. “Why should I believe you?”

“ _Because we were teammates? Because I wouldn’t have gone to the effort of getting this number for a joke or prank? Because you don’t trust Coil anyway? Because this is too fucking insane for me to be making it up?_ ” Tattletale’s voice was rising in what sounded like very real panic. “ _Take your pick—his mercs will be in your room in minutes._ ”

Alec took a deep breath to steady himself. He’d been prepared for something like this, hadn’t he? He had plans...which Coil probably already knew. Shit. “Okay. What do I do?”

“ _I’ve talked to Faultline. She’ll shelter you. She doesn’t want you doing jobs with us—you’ve got too much of a reputation, and your power doesn’t work with our MO. But she’s willing to try to keep you safe, and take you with us when we leave this shithole of a city._ ”

“Why?” Alec asked blankly. “What does she want for it?”

Tattletale was silent for a moment. “ _Nothing from you,_ ” she said finally. “ _This is part of what she’s paying me. Alec, you need to hurry._ ”

Alec bit his lip. “Okay. Where do I meet you guys?”

“ _The Palanquin. It’s a club. Get moving. You have about five minutes before they get there._ ”

There was a click, and Tattletale was gone.

Alec stood. _Five minutes, huh? Sorry, daddy dearest, I’m not ready to come home quite yet._

There wasn’t a lot to pack. He just tossed a bit of food and a water bottle into a backpack and walked out the door.

 _Guess I won’t be here if Jess comes back._ He considered leaving a note, then thought better of it.

He wasn’t stopped by the first mercenary he passed, nor the second. Then his phone rang, and he picked it up.

“ _Alec._ ” It was Coil, but he sounded different. His voice was a little deeper than usual, and a touch louder. Alec had to focus to make himself keep walking as he held the phone to his ear.

“Hey, hey,” Alec chided. “ _Regent_. You don’t know who might be listening.”

“ _Alec. I have a job for you._ ”

“Really? Someone you need mastered?”

“ _Yes. Come to my office at once. Please hurry._ ”

“I’ll be right there.”

“ _Liar._ ” Coil sighed audibly into the receiver. “ _Who was it? Did you master one of my men?_ ”

“Nah. There’s an idea, though. Wish I’d thought of it.”

“ _Alec, whatever you heard, I’m open to—_ ”

Regent hung up. He slipped his phone into his pocket and looked over at the mercs at the entrance to Coil’s base. They were looking at him.

The entrance was a large room, like a hangar. The five men were in cover on the near side of a barbed-wire barricade, with a mobile gate in the center. That gate, Regent knew, was controlled from a booth behind which one of the men stood. On the far side of the room, the outer door which led from the base into the basement of some office building was waiting.

“So,” he drawled. “This can go two ways.”

“Boss says you aren’t to leave,” said the leader. “Sorry, kid.”

“Either you step aside,” Regent continued, stepping forward and hefting his baton. “Or I go through you.”

“Don’t be an idiot, kid,” said the leader warningly. “There’s five of us—”

“Six.”

The captain blinked.

“Six,” Regent said again. “There’s one inside the booth.”

The captain hesitated for a moment. “…Sure,” he said. “Six. Your point?”

“Aren’t you going to ask how I knew he was there?”

“Don’t care. Turn around, kid.”

“Regent,” said Regent.

“And this is how I knew,” he said through the mouth of the mercenary in the booth. Regent flexed the man’s leg, lifting him up to look out the booth’s windows, and pointed the man’s guns out of them. Bullets flew.

The captain went down before he knew what was happening. Regent was no marksman, but hitting a stationary target at something like fifteen feet wasn’t hard. He could feel the man struggling against him, could feel his horror and rage.

 _That’s what you were going to send me back to,_ he thought. _Only worse._

He dove into cover with his real body as his puppet continued to fire on the other mercs. The surprise was still keeping them from reacting well, but it wouldn’t last much longer, especially given these guys’ training. In that window, he managed to take out one more.

_Two down, three to go._

Then he had to duck back into cover as the soldiers got their bearings back and began to fire. One was covering his mercenary in the booth, while the other two were firing on his cover. He could hear the bullets pinging off the wall.

He needed to draw their fire away. He had his mercenary pop up like a whack-a-mole and take a quick shot. He didn’t hit anything, but it pulled their fire momentarily away from Regent, which was all he needed. Carefully, he ducked out from behind the wall, and reached out a hand to one of the men.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he tried to get a grip on the man’s muscles. _Hurry,_ he told himself. _They’ll look back here any second, and you’ll be fucked._

The man’s arm spasmed. The assault rifle turned spasmodically, and blew a hole into one of the other mercs. _Three down._

Regent’s puppet stood up at that moment, and shot down the merc Regent had used. The shots connected. _Four down._

Unfortunately, the last merc took the opportunity, and struck Regent’s ally in the shoulder. He ducked back down, and even secondhand the pain was hell.

_Come on, I don’t have all day. Reinforcements have got to be coming by now._

Regent gritted his teeth—both mouths of them. With two voices synchronized, he called out, “last chance, buddy. _You’re_ outnumbered now. Throw me the gun and I’ll go without any more trouble.”

Another spurt of gunfire against the concrete booth was all he got for his trouble.

_Fucking fine._

With the soldier’s body, he launched a spray of covering fire at the barricade behind which the man was ducking. With his own, he charged. Before the last merc knew what was happening, Regent was next to him. Before he could bring his gun up, the taser was in his face, and he was down.

Regent slammed the button to open the gate with the merc’s body, and ran through it with his own, taking the stairs two at a time.

He sprinted until he was outside, resting against the building’s back door. The stars flickered overhead. Regent blinked at them. It was hard to tell day from night in the base.

He sighed. Let his heart rate slow down a little bit.

He’d been trying to get his power onto as many of Coil’s mercenaries as he could. The man was careful. He’d only managed to spend enough time close to a few of the mercenaries to be able to really master them if he needed to. He’d been really lucky that one of those few had been a guard at the gate. He couldn’t count on luck like that again. For now, he had to get to the Palanquin.


	74. Flicker 8.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Assembler, @themanwhowas, @BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

“For the record,” said Vista, “I don’t like this plan.”

“Got any better ideas?” Sophia asked.

“Nope. Just thought you ought to know how I felt about it.’”

“You don’t have to come,” I said, looking over at her.

She met my eyes. “I know,” she said dryly. “I owe you this much, though.”

We were standing outside PRT HQ. The stars glimmered overhead, dimmed by the faint haze of light pollution and smog, even reduced as it was by Leviathan and Bakuda. The street was nearly silent, save for the muted bustle of the PRT working inside the building behind us.

I’d lived through gang wars, before I gained my powers. I remembered times when Brockton Bay had been a city at war, but those wars had never been concrete. They had always been distant dangers, additional risks to be aware of, but never clear and present threats to me personally.

Since gaining powers, I’d faced Bakuda, Leviathan, and now Valefor and Heartbreaker. Nothing before had compared, and the city, in silence, seemed to agree.

It made some small part of me wonder. Was the city tearing itself apart now because I was here? Or was I here, now, because the city was tearing itself apart?

“Anyway,” Vista said, turning away from me. “North, right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s get to the edge of Downtown, first. We should be careful from there.”

Vista nodded. “Proceeding toward Downtown,” she echoed, speaking into her headset. Then the air twisted before us as space compressed. “Come on,” she said, and led us onward.

I watched her. Her shoulders were set, and her movements were direct and deliberate. “You’re not afraid,” I said, almost surprising myself by breaking the silence.

Vista glanced back at me, blinking. “No. Should I be?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I am.”

“Heartbreaker can’t hurt us,” Vista said with a raised eyebrow. “Not with your Rings. Right?”

“Right,” I said, glancing away.

There was a moment’s silence as Vista stretched space again.

“He’ll be fine,” Sophia said quietly. “We’ll make sure of it.”

I swallowed and didn’t reply. We continued in silence for a time. Above our heads, the stars burned like shards of ice.

“This is about as far as I think we’re safe going,” said Vista suddenly, coming to a stop and letting her hands fall as the condensed space behind us loosened again. “Histeya’s… cold.”

I nodded. “After this point, we can’t count on support,” I said. “Shadow Stalker, any ideas?”

“Stick to the rooftops, stay in cover, and get to the house as quickly as we can,” Sophia said immediately. “We want to avoid being seen, right?”

“Makes sense to me,” said Vista. “Ready when you are.”

I swallowed and nodded. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

“Think anyone saw us?” Sophia asked.

We were on the rooftop of one of the houses next to mine, looking over at my house across the street. There was a PRT van parked outside, and the lights were on inside.

“No,” I said quietly. “But I can’t be sure.”

“Look at it this way,” said Vista. “Even if it _is_ a trap, it’s not a trap for _us_. Protocol would be to send a PRT squad in. They won’t be expecting three Ring-Bearers.”

“If it’s a trap, my father’s the bait,” I answered. “Even if they lose, we still don’t win.”

Sophia nudged me. “It might be fine. We won’t know until we go in.”

“I hope so. Do either of you notice anything?”

Vista hesitated for just a moment. “They should have hidden the van.”

“And there should be an officer with it,” Sophia said. “Looks empty from here.”

I nodded. “Right. Bad signs.” I turned on my radio. “We’re there, on the rooftops across the street. The squad van is parked outside the house, empty. Vista and Stalker think there might be something wrong.”

“Understood,” said Aegis, his voice crackly and just a little bit faint. “You still going in?”

I hesitated for just a second. “Yes,” I said. “We need to extract the VIP. We’ll be careful.”

“Okay.” Aegis sounded worried. “Should I let the troopers know you’re coming?”

“Not until we’re at the door.” I shut my radio off, turned to my teammates. “We stay in the open and we stay together,” I ordered. “There are only three of us. If we split up, that means one of us is alone. A sitting duck.” They nodded. “Stalker, turn your radio on, keep in contact with HQ. Check in every thirty seconds, relay everything that happens.”

“Got it.” Sophia turned her headset on, then sealed her mask, muffling her voice so that no one could overhear her from outside. “Thirty-second checkins,” she echoed. “I’ll relay the situation.”

“We’ll be listening,” said Aegis.

“Good,” I radioed. “Descending now.”

I dropped off of the roof. The wind whistled past me for an instant as I fell, before I hit the ground with only the faintest clack of metal on concrete. Sophia and Vista joined me a moment later. Together we crept across the street, watching the PRT van and the surrounding buildings for any sign of movement. Nothing disturbed the night.

“Seems quiet down here,” Sophia radioed. “Let the troopers know we’re here now.”

As we walked up to the front door, I couldn’t help a faint feeling that I was leading my teammates to the gallows. The path came to an end all too soon, and we were on the threshold. I had to force myself to raise my fist and knock.

Dad answered the door, and as soon as I saw his face light up in affection, I relaxed. He looked perfectly fine. “T—” he started, then stopped. “Annatar,” he said. “To what—”

“There’s no time,” I said. “You’re in danger. I need you to come with me. We’re extracting you and the PRT operatives assigned to protect you.”

Dad frowned. “What’s happened?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“The VIP answered the door himself,” Sophia radioed, a suspicious edge to her voice. I glanced nervously into the house, but even if the troopers were there, they wouldn’t have heard it through her closed mask. “I don’t see any of the troopers, weren’t they inside?”

I bit my lip, trying to focus on my father. “It’s… it’s a long story,” I said. “Your PRT detail sent out a distress call an hour or so ago.”

“Oh,” he said, realization crossing his features. “There was a fight a couple streets down. ABB. Lung got involved. It died down earlier.”

“That’s what they told HQ,” I said, “but there’s a lot going on tonight. Come on, we need to move.”

“Right,” he agreed, and turned around. “All right, Captain, your men can come out. They’re friends.”

There was shuffling behind him—movement from inside the house. I stepped back, onto the lawn, to let Dad pass, as four PRT officers came down the hall towards us, weapons down, but in their hands.

I could feel Vista tensing beside me. I glanced down at her. Her lips were pursed, and her eyes were darting hither and thither as though seeking something.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, keeping my voice at a low murmur.

Her head gave a minute tilt from side to side. “Maybe,” she said, just as quietly. “They shouldn’t have hidden, and they shouldn’t have weapons drawn.”

“It’s not because of the alert??”

Before she could answer, the PRT troopers were outside with us. “Annatar,” said their leader with a nod. “Good to see you. The fighting’s gotten awfully close. Did they send a squad with you, or is it just you three?”

“Just us,” I said. “We should be plenty.”

He nodded. His face was fully covered by the visor of his riot helmet, so I couldn’t see his expression. It bothered me. “I’m not going to disagree with that,” he said. “Are we falling back to headquarters, then?”

“Troopers were in the house, hiding,” Sophia radioed, still sounding skeptical. “They’re acting a little odd. Their weapons are drawn.”

“That’s the plan,” I confirmed.

“Then should we take the van?”

“No,” said Vista quickly, before I could respond. “Or, well, _we_ won’t. We’ll head out with the VIP while your squad takes the car back.”

He glanced at her. “Why split up?” he asked. “You can take the van with you when you use your power, can’t you, Vista?”

She glanced up at me, as if asking for help. I obliged. “If we split up, it gives the enemy more targets,” I said. “We weren’t discovered on our approach, as far as we know, so any enemies will probably follow the van. It makes sense to take the VIP by the most secure route possible, right?”

The man considered that. “Suppose that makes sense,” he agreed. “All right, people, let’s go.”

We stepped further back, Dad following us onto the road, as the troopers filed out, forming a line in front of the van. Then Sophia froze, stopping in her tracks. Her eyes were cast upward, towards my bedroom window. I followed her gaze. The curtains were drawn.

“Something wrong, Shadow Stalker?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” she muttered, voice only audible through the radio. She squinted, staring into the window. “What room is that?”

“My bedroom,” I murmured, quietly enough so that the PRT troops, a few feet in front of us, wouldn’t hear.

Sophia nodded, but didn’t reply. Her eyes widened, and I felt her tense suddenly like an animal caught in headlights.

“Someone’s up there,” she hissed. “Vista, get us out of here!”

Vista’s eyes flashed. “On it.” Her hands rose, but at that moment, the curtains over my bedroom window were thrown aside.

There was a child there—a boy, maybe thirteen years old. His shoulder-length black hair was done up in a ponytail, and his eyes flashed in the dark.

I felt my arms and legs seize up, locking into place as though electrocuted. Vista and Sophia both stiffened beside me.

The boy stared down at us. In the moonlight, now that the curtains had been drawn back, I could see the sweat beading on his brow, twinkling in the reflected dusk.

“Foam ‘em,” ordered the captain. “Danny, step back.” He was close--too close. My eyes, darting around, could see the troopers circling around us. Vista wouldn’t be able to warp space with this little room between living people.

It wasn’t my first time being subjected to containment foam. It was a mandatory part of training. That’d didn’t mean I was ready for it when the foam began to build around by legs, arms, and torso, hardening as it went.

“What are you doing?” my dad asked, almost shrill. “What the—”

“ _His_ orders, Danny,” said the captain. “He sent word when you went to the door.”

There was a pause. “Oh,” Dad said. His voice was horribly small. I’d thought I could tell. I was wrong. He was totally enthralled, and I hadn’t seen it.

As soon as the foam had congealed around my body, I felt the electric force through my limbs shatter. Vista immediately released a tumultuous string of oaths. Sophia was just looking at me.

“We’ve been captured,” Sophia radioed, her voice shaky but stable, with just a hint of panic. “Some kind of paralysis cape in the upstairs window. They’re all compromised, troops and VIP.”

“Fuck!” Aegis said. “Sending backup now, ETA four minutes.”

“Got it,” Sophia replied, her voice sounding weak, defeated. She turned to me, as much as the foam would allow. “I’m sorry, Taylor. I should have seen him sooner.”

I shook my head. “Can you move?”

She started to shake her head, then hesitated. “I—”

“Blink out,” I whispered. “Buy some time.”

Vista’s cursing was loud enough to mask our short exchange. Sophia grimaced. “I’m not leaving you,” she said.

“You’re not. We need to give the others time to get here.”

At that moment, the captain came into my view around Vista. “Do us all a favor,” he said in a put-upon voice, “and stop that?”

Vista spat at him. “ _Fuck_ you! You fucking traitorous—”

The man pointed his foam gun directly into her face. “Don’t finish that sentence,” he said grimly.

Vista gave him an icy glare,, but fell silent.

The captain sighed and glanced at me. “I really do respect you, you know. All of you Wards. You’ve done amazing things, and you’re just kids.”

“It’s not stopping you from betraying us,” said Sophia. Her voice was soft, and she wasn’t even looking at him. She was looking at me—no, past me. At my dad.

I heard him shift. I didn’t look. I didn’t want to see.

“No,” the captain agreed, sounding almost sad. “No, it isn’t.”

The front door opened again, and the boy stepped out onto the threshold. “Hey, Annatar,” he said, a sneer on his lips and in his voice. “ _Huge_ fan. Thanks for lending me your room.” I met his eyes and said nothing. The sneer faded a little. “Nothing to say?” he asked. “Not a peep? Just gonna take this?”

Still I said nothing. Sophia was looking at me now.

The boy gave a rough sigh and shook his head, a scowl on his lips. “Fucking hell,” he said. “I was hoping to see some of that famous Annatar charisma. Was hoping you’d try to convince me to let you go. Didn’t expect a little bitch.”

“Say that again,” said Sophia. “I fucking dare you. Say that again!”

“Stalker!” I barked, glaring over at her. She turned to me—were those tears in her eyes?

For a moment, she was silent. Then, in a burst of shadow, she was gone.

“Fucking _what_?” barked the kid, blinking and then turning a furious glare on me. “What did—how? What the—”

“Form up!” the captain ordered, ignoring him. “Keep your eyes open! She could come from—”

Then he gurgled and fell, a tranquilizer bolt in his neck. “Fuck!” exclaimed another trooper, waving his foam gun wildly. “What the fuck! How—”

The boy, however, didn’t hesitate. In a second, he had a knife in his hand, pressed to my throat. “Shadow Stalker!” he called. “You got away—good on you. We don’t want you anyway. But if you keep shooting, Annatar here will pay for it.”

Silence fell. After a moment, the kid grinned. “Perfect,” he said, and there was a perverse satisfaction in his voice. He met my eyes as he spoke to the soldiers. “Do Vista first. I want to see the _dread_ on her face. And someone else hold this knife!”

“Shutdown…” My dad sounded reproachful. The kid glanced at him dismissively as he passed the knife off to a trooper. He didn’t even bother to respond.

“The fuck do you mean?” Vista asked, looking from Shutdown to the soldiers. “What are you doing?”

The PRT troopers were approaching her with a canister of confoam solvent. I’d only ever seen it at base—I had no idea where Heartbreaker had gotten ahold of it. They deployed it carefully, targeting the foam covering her left hand. Slowly, her hand was exposed, along with the Ring of Power on it.

Vista’s face paled. “No,” she murmured. “No, you can’t.”

“There it is,” said Shutdown with relish. “Keep going.”

“You’ll regret this.” I spoke quietly, without much emotion. It wasn’t that I wasn’t feeling anything—it was that I was feeling too much to express.

Shutdown ignored me. He wasn’t even looking at me now, instead watching Vista with a smile on his face as he listened to her protests.

“No,” she said again, her voice growing higher. “Please, you can’t, I don’t—It’s mine! I can’t, it won’t…”

Vista’s nearly incoherent protests went ignored as the officer reached down. He couldn’t see Histeya, exactly, but he knew where it was, and soon his fingers closed around the mithril band. He began to pull.

Vista was screaming wordlessly now. There were tears in my eyes. “I’m so sorry, _”_ I whispered, but she couldn’t hear me. Shutdown did, and he gave me a cruel smile.

Histeya didn’t come off of Vista’s finger easily. It had to be forced—painfully so, by the volume of Vista’s protesting screams. I wanted to close my eyes, to look away, to cry and scream and rail. I did none of these things. I just watched as they stole one of the Seven from its proper Bearer.

The moment the band was off of her finger, Vista fell silent, her head bowed. Tears tracked their way down ruddy cheeks. The troopers around her, including the one with his knife at my jugular, looked slightly sick.

“Cool!” Shutdown exclaimed clapping his hands together in an almost childlike way. “Now, Annatar. Your turn.”

My eyes held Shutdown’s as a soldier came to my left side. I didn’t look as the foam over my hand dissolved.

As soon as my hand was free, I flexed my fingers. Lighting lanced forth, a burst of crackling electricity. It buried itself in the trooper, and he was cast back, ten or fifteen feet, landing in a crumpled heap in the middle of the road.

The troopers all stepped away warily. Shutdown, after he got over the surprise, glared at me. “Danny!” he ordered. “ _You’re_ standing there this time. Let’s see if she’ll do that to her own dad.”

Dad came and stood beside me, even as one of the other troopers went to check on the fallen officer. Shutdown looked over at them. “Well?” he asked.

“He’s dead,” said the trooper shakily. “She killed him.”

My dad’s breath caught. Mine didn’t. When Shutdown turned back to me, my eyes were locked on his.

“You’re going to regret this,” I said. My voice was perfectly even, and my lips shaped the words with all the precision of a chisel engraving them in marble.

Shutdown’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll see,” he said. “Danny?”

Dad knelt beside me and met my eyes. “I’m sorry, Taylor,” he said, and there was real pain in his voice as he reached for Vilya. “It’s not that I don’t love you.”

“I know,” I said. At last, I turned away from Shutdown to look up at my dad. Tears were sparkling in his eyes—and also in mine. There was a haze descending on my mind, like my brain was being choked with fog. “It’s that you love him more.”

Dad nodded. “Don’t fight,” he said as he began to tug on the Ring. It was stuck on my knuckle. “You’ll understand soon.”

I wasn’t trapped in containment foam at all. I could feel the metal closing around me. I could smell the blood and shit.

Vilya slipped past the first knuckle, and caught on the second.

 _Please!_ I was screaming, begging, crying. _Someone help me!_

But my mouth wasn’t moving, and nobody came. I tried to knock him out, push him away, and nothing happened.

Vilya came off, and for the first time in what felt like years, I was just Taylor.

“There,” my father said, a tearful smile on his face. “That wasn’t so hard. It’ll all be okay soon, Taylor.”

_It’ll all be over soon._

I was betrayed. I could feel the edge of the knife in my back. I could feel the squelching of filth under my feet, around my legs. It was rising to my waist, my stomach. It was all around me, it was inside me. I was—

“What the fuck is she doing!?” Shutdown’s voice was distant. I barely registered it. My eyes were fixed on my father’s face and wide eyes, the silver and red light playing on his features and reflecting in his eyes.

The smell of shit gave way to ash and smoke and fire. The blood remained.

I had been so afraid of myself, so concerned with the danger _I_ presented, that I had ignored the dangers from outside. This was where my moralizing led: my father mastered, three Rings stolen, and a city at war with itself. _No more._

There were spiders in my veins. There were ants in my lungs. There were cockroaches in my hair.

There was fire in my eyes.

_Destination._


	75. Flicker 8.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @frustratedFreeboota for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @MugaSofer, @Assembler, and ShadowStepper1300 for fact checking.

I saw them.

Two monstrous shapes, fractured and fractal, sundered by dimensions human eyes couldn’t perceive, existing in layers superimposed on the same space.

Had I eyes, they would have bled. Had I a mouth, it would have screamed. Space and time were a fractured glass, and they were observed through it, fragmented and whole, enormous and tiny, everywhere and nowhere.

I saw them as the others did—too large to make out, too large to understand, too large to identify with any word but _large_ , and every one of its multitudinous synonyms.

And yet I had a sight unlike the others, and I saw clearer. The fracturing of the universe could not hide them from me—could not protect me from what I saw.

Their flesh was crystalline, and shimmered terribly like a black sun. They extended outward in every imaginable and unimaginable direction, to lengths which seemed to stretch to infinity. And I saw all of it as clear as through the most flawless diamond.

I saw them as they were, behind the veils of space and time, behind the shroud of mystery and the lock of mortal vision. I saw them—a million eyes, a billion legs, and a trillion slavering maws, furious and hungry.

They spoke, and I heard it as a human being, but I heard it also with ears that were not human at all. Each idea was more than a word—more than a sentence or a paragraph. More than a novel, or even a _dictionary_. But every iota of it was as hollow and empty as the dark between stars.

They were shedding. Little twinkling fragments fell like rain from them, shards of crystalline flesh like the children of a hydra, dropping down though there was no down, spreading out though there was no in.

One was coming towards me, and as it approached it came into focus. The crystal was no crystal, it was flesh. Black, and hard, and hungry.

Though I had no body, I ducked out of the way as it came hissing and spitting towards my face. Though I had no hand, I reached for my sword as I turned to face it. Narsil shone white and red as I held it before me, though I was not there.

And yet I was.

It turned to face me. It had many eyes, too many to fit on its face. It had too many legs for its body. And its mouths were too numerous to be contained by any space. When it spoke, every single one moved—some with lips, some with beaks, some with mere flesh surrounding a gaping hole, and the most terrible with a pair of hairy black mandibles.

_Maia._

One word—one idea. Its scale was far smaller than the speech of those massive things, of which this speaker was but a fragment, but it was still larger than it had any right to be. But even their horrible speech could not empty that idea of meaning.

_Host._

“No.” The word left my lips before I remembered that I had no lips.

_Assistance._

“No.”

It drew itself up to its fullest height—truly impressive, for a being the size of a planet and existing in a fractured space of near-infinite parallels. _Affirmation._

I willed a body into existence with a scrap of song. Embedded in a space that had no room for bodies, it took a guarding stance. “No.”

It struck with a scything leg, with an edge like a blade that shifted through every imaginable dimension and universe. I deflected with a sword that existed in the only universe that mattered.

It screamed in a language that wasn’t a language, as a fragment of itself was sundered and crumbled away. As it withdrew in pain, I took a guard again, and said, “No.”

It struck blow after blow. Each was stopped, and with each deflection, it was diminished, and I grew brighter and stronger.

Though it filled all available space, slowly I drove it away from me. Though it laughed at distance, slowly it yielded more and more to me.

And as the battle continued, for the first time since before time was first spun into thread, I began to sing.

I sang a song of sunrise, and the night at last gave way. The beast was driven back and away, and into the dark, empty space between the stars it withdrew. I knew it would not trouble me again.

Perhaps it would seek out another host, or perhaps I had injured it so severely that it could not. In the dark, empty night, it might grow so hungry, so ravenous, that it would at last succumb to that inexorable temptation of all gluttons, as had the first, so long ago.

As it fell away and was gone, the sun rose and blazed, and I saw out of it like a burning eye.

* * *

 

My eyes opened to heat and flame.

I was lying prone on the pavement, and the heat rose in a haze from the ground. Off the road, the bushes were burning. The flower garden my mother had once tended was crackling merrily in a macabre parody of homeliness.

I hurt all over, and my head felt like an oven, baking my brain. I blinked, trying to clear my vision.

There was a voice, calling me. I tried to turn, but could only glance a little to the side, and then I stopped.

Dad was lying there. His clothes were torn and scorched, and his skin was blackened. His burned face was upturned, and his eyes were closed. I couldn’t see whether he was breathing.

And beside him, on the ground, Vilya flickered.

I reached out, but couldn’t grasp it.

“—ay—or!” The voice was getting closer.

I pulled myself forward with the last of my strength. The world seemed to dim around me.

My fingers closed around Vilya.

“Taylor!” Then there were hands around me, gently pulling me up and turning me over. My head lolled back. I had no strength left. It was all I could do to keep ahold of Vilya.

Sophia knelt beside me, cradling me in her arms. Her eyes glittered damply through the holes in her mask. She was saying something, but there was a ringing in my ears. Her face was the last thing I saw as I slipped away again.

* * *

 

I awoke with a gasp, already sitting up and reaching for Narsil. The sword wasn’t there, but even as I searched I saw the flicker of Vilya upon my finger.

That was the first thing I noticed, the shimmering blue of the Ring of Air, and I latched onto it like a drowning man to a lifeline. I stared at the blue star, allowing it to fill my senses, as my heart rate slowed and the horror faded.

 _Horror_ , not fear. Bakuda, Lung, Heartbreaker, the Slaughterhouse Nine… they evoked fear. Fear was born of what something or someone might _do_. This was horror, brought on by that awful vision of the abominable _things_ that drifted in the space between spaces and grew by breaking apart. Horror was born of what something _was_.

At last I tore my eyes from Vilya and began to take in my surroundings. I was in a bed, with white sheets, a thin but warm blanket, and a simple metal frame. The walls were white cinderblock, and the floor below was tiled in grey and black. There were more beds to either side, and through a window I could see the night sky. It was afire with stars.

The beds were all empty. There was only one other person in the room with me. She sat slumped in a chair, her chin resting on her chest, which rose and fell steadily in sleep. Her face was shrouded by a curtain of unkempt dark hair.

For a moment, I watched Sophia sleep, as she had surely watched me. I struggled, torn between a desire to wake her and hear what had happened, and the desire to let her have her rest.

In the end, my selfishness won out. I reached out and gently shook her shoulder.

Her eyes opened immediately, a muffled “Taylor,” on her lips as she awoke. Her eyes sought mine. “Oh, thank God. You’re awake.”

I nodded. “You got me out of there, right?”

“Yeah. The others helped me defoam Vista, she got back her Ring, and we got you and your dad out.”

I twitched. “Is…. How is he?”

She glanced away. “He’ll live,” she said. “He’s pretty badly burned, though.”

“And the soldiers?”

“We piled them into the van and Clockblocker drove them back. They’re in master/stranger quarantine now.”

I nodded. I looked down at my hands, and slowly clenched them into fists, then let go again. “What about Shutdown?”

“Dead. You got him.”

I considered Vilya on my finger. “Should I… feel bad about that?”

“No,” Sophia said firmly. “He was—”

“He was the enemy.”

There was silence for a moment. Sophia cleared her throat. “Well, yeah, but—”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. My feet hit the ground earlier than I was expecting, and I swayed slightly. Sophia started at the motion. “Taylor, you shouldn’t be standing! You’re—”

“I’m taller,” I interrupted, looking down at her. “Right?”

She swallowed. “That’s not all,” she said quietly.

I frowned. “What?”

Wordlessly, she took a mirror from the bedside table and handed it to me. I took it and turned it around so that I saw my face.

Angular features looked back at me. My bones had realigned slightly, into harder, finer lines. My brown eyes were more almond-shaped, now, and, looked somehow sharper, and my ears tapered into thin, long points.

I looked similar, altered, and achingly familiar.

“I don’t know what happened,” Sophia said. “Sorry.”

I didn’t answer for a moment. My mouth was still too wide, my skin still slightly too pale, and my hair still lay in that uncomfortable interface between curly and wavy where it never looked quite right.

I narrowed my eyes at the mirror. It was just a shape, this body of mine. Just a physical shell. It didn’t seem right that I should have to obey its constraints.

Lowly, in the back of my throat, I began to hum. The clear note filled the room, setting the air thrumming like the strings of a violin.

I didn’t need to open my mouth, to properly Sing, for something as small as this. The low humming was sufficient. Slowly, my mouth thinned, shifting into something less toadlike. My hair smoothed slightly. My skin took on a healthier luster.

“Okay, wait.” Sophia was staring at me. “Since when could you shapeshift?”

I handed her back the mirror. “Since just now,” I said.

"And you... don’t want to go back to how you were?"

"No. I like the change." My voice was hard with chained anger. “Sophia, we have work to do. Where’s Narsil?”

Sophia blinked. “Narsil?” Then she frowned. “I… don’t know. Didn’t see it. But Taylor, you’re _exhausted_. You can’t just—”

“I’m fine.” I smiled mirthlessly. “I feel _great_ , actually. But we need to stop Heartbreaker.”

Sophia looked hesitant, but eventually she nodded, stood up, and tossed the mirror on my bed. “Okay. What do you need?”

“Are the others asleep?”

“Yeah. They went to bed a couple hours ago. It’s about three in the morning.”

“Go join them,” I said. “Get some rest. I have something that needs making.”

“You’re going down the the workshop?” she asked. “Now? Can’t it wait for morning? You need _rest_ , Taylor.”

“What I _need_ ,” I hissed, “is Heartbreaker’s head on a pike. I need my city back.”

Sophia took a step away from me, as if on an impulse. Her voice quavered slightly. “Taylor? Your eyes—”

“Get some sleep,” I ordered. “I’ll wake you when I’m ready to move.”

“I don’t—”

I was already striding away and out the door. “Sleep well, Sophia,” I said. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

The door swung shut behind me. The air parted to let me pass as I made my way towards the workshop.

I couldn’t find Narsil. Iphannis, though powerful, was too precise a weapon for what I wanted now. I didn’t want a spear, to keep my enemies distant. I wanted something that would keep them close enough for me to see the whites of their eyes as the light left them.

And I had just the mace in mind. Long, forged of black galvorn, and brutally spiked and bladed.

 _Búrzashdurb_. The One that Rules the Dark.

It wasn’t the ideal tool for the job. There was something I’d much prefer—a tool with which I could subjugate entire nations, and bend armies to my will.

Forging _that_ would require more than this little workshop, however, and more time than I had right now. It would need a place of immense power, and time enough to properly focus on the task, neither of which I had at the moment. So Búrzashdurb, heir to Grond, would have to suffice for now.

_End Arc 8: Flicker_


	76. Wildfire 9.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill, @Assembler, ShadowStepper1300, and @frustratedFreeboota for betareading.

The hammer fell upon the anvil like a church bell tolling a funeral. The heat of the forge was oppressive, and the red light of the fire suffused the little workshop, casting it in an eerie, bleak light. Soot choked the air, scattering from the burning forge and filling the air with a shadow. If there was a Hell, I imagined it must look something like this.

It reminded me of a dream I’d had, not long ago. It felt like home.

Again and again I brought the hammer down. Slowly Búrzashdurb came into its true shape. The blades were formed, ground, beveled, and sharpened. The haft was ground to shape and wrapped with a leather grip. These components I forged together carefully, occasionally augmenting the fire and the hammer with a scrap of Song.

The work took a few hours. It felt like decades. The fire, smoke, and sound seemed unending. It was as though I was going under in a sea of heat and darkness, never again to emerge.

At length, Búrzashdurb was finished. It glinted darkly in the light of the forge. I swung it through the air experimentally. It whistled as it passed in a low, angry sound, like the buzzing of a million bees.

There was a mirror hanging on the door of the workshop. I approached it and considered myself.

My armor had been stained black with soot. Only the faintest hint of silver gleamed under the darkness. It matched the mace in my hands almost as well as the polished platemail had matched with Narsil.

My mace, however, was clean. The soot failed to cling to it, seeming to billow around it without ever marring the black galvorn. The long haft was tipped with a hefty weight, and it was crowned with a ring of fierce, heavy blades, black and vicious. It was heavy, it was powerful, and it shone jet in the red glow.

This was the weapon that would crush Heartbreaker, and everyone else who stood in my way.

* * *

 

“Wards!” I said, my voice loud and clear in the silent barracks.

I was answered by a startled shriek as Missy sat bolt upright in her bunk, breathing heavily. She blinked at me for a moment. “What the—Annatar?”

I gave her a nod. “Vista.” I suddenly remembered her screams the night before as Histeya was ripped from her. “You up for some revenge today?”

She grinned mirthlessly. Her teeth flashed in the dark. “Absolutely.”

“Then get up and get dressed. We have a lot of work to do.” I glanced at the bunk beside Vista’s. Amy was looking at me with an odd expression of mingled fear and concern. “Something wrong, Panacea?”

She hesitated, glancing at Bύrzashdurb on my belt. “Haven’t seen that weapon before.”

“It’s new. I’ll explain later. Get up and get ready.” I looked over at the last bunk, where Sophia was watching me expressionlessly. “You too, Shadow Stalker.”

Sophia nodded and threw the covers off herself as I strode out of the room, closing the door behind me. Then I turned on my heel and strode down the hall towards the boys’ barracks.

The base was empty of activity, save for the occasional PRT trooper on patrol. They saluted me as I passed, and I gave them nods in return, smiling at the awe and occasional fear in their faces. It was about 5:30 in the morning. The sky outside was just starting to brighten from the dark of night to the grey of the early dawn. Soon the sun would rise, bright and terrible, a red fire in the eastern sky, and I would rise with it, out of this base and into the city.

There was work to do, and I was at last ready to do it. I was the cleansing fire of the eastern dawn, and I would not stop until my enemies were reduced to ash and dust.

I tried the handle of the boys’ barracks. Locked, of course. I opened my mouth and whispered a scrap of Song to the lock, shifting the reality of the workings until they were no longer blocking my passage, and then opened the door.

“Wards!” I shouted into the darkness.

“Crackerjacks!” exclaimed Chris incoherently, falling out of his upper bunk and down to the ground.

I blinked at him for a moment, then shook my head. “Get up,” I ordered. “There’s work to do, and I don’t plan to wait any longer than I have to.”

“Annatar?” Sam asked blankly, sitting up and staring at me. “What happened to your armor?”

“It’s just soot,” I said, rubbing my gauntleted fingers together and holding them up as the black powder floated down. “No big deal. Now get up, get dressed, and meet me in the common room in ten minutes. We have work to do.”

“What time is it?” Brian asked, yawning.

“Half past five,” I said. “Dawn’s coming soon.”

“Half past _five_?” he asked, staring at me as though I was insane. “What kind—”

My head tilted slightly. He stopped talking immediately. “There’s _work_ to do,” I said, slowly and clearly. “Heartbreaker, Valefor, and Coil have the run of the city. That will not be allowed to continue. Move.”

I turned and slammed the door behind me.

Sophia, Amy, and Missy were waiting for me once I reached the common room. “Coffee?” Sophia offered from where she stood by the espresso machine, holding out a paper cup to me.

I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, passing the cup to Amy instead. “Have you even slept?”

“No. I don’t need to.”

She looked at me with a frown. “Taylor, Heartbreaker will still be around in a couple hours. You need to rest.”

“No,” I said grimly. “I don’t.”

“As the resident medical expert,” said Amy wryly, “I should probably remind you that—”

“You’re an expert in human medicine,” I said. “That no longer applies.”

Sophia blinked at me. “What?”

_Maia._

I looked down at the Ring of Power on my finger. It flashed blue and cold under the fluorescent lights. “I’ll explain once the others get here. I don’t want to waste my time.”

Sophia looked as though she wanted to protest, but instead she sighed and handed a cup of coffee to Missy, who accepted it with a muted “Thanks.” Missy, unlike Sophia and Amy, already had her mask on. I couldn’t see most of her face, but I could see how her teeth worried her lower lip, how she held the coffee cup close and warmed her hands upon it, and how her shoulders were raised protectively over her small frame.

Losing Histeya had not been easy for her. I would need to channel that pain, that fear, into a drive to destroy the people responsible. I was sure Amy and Sophia had been sympathetic to her, had treated her gently, when she’d returned last night. I would need to show her that I still respected her as a combatant—that I trusted her not to falter—if I wanted her to be both loyal and effective.

“I’m almost sorry I killed Shutdown,” I said aloud.

The three Ring-Bearers turned to me. There was a look of something like shock on Sophia’s face, and confusion on Amy’s. Vista’s expression had frozen.

“I would’ve liked to see what _you’d_ do to him,” I said, smiling slightly at the youngest Ward.

Sophia was staring at me, but Amy’s confusion gave way to understanding. Vista’s face slowly shifted into a toothy, cold-eyed smile. “Yeah. Me too.”

At that moment, Carlos opened the door. “Hey, Annatar,” he said with a nod. “What’s the plan?”

“We need to debrief first,” I said. “Sit down, everyone.”

“Anyone want coffee?” Sophia offered.

I sighed at the distraction, but nodded. “And that, yes.”

I sat down in an armchair and impatiently tossed Búrzashdurb like a baton, catching it by the haft every time, as the guys got their coffee. Once they were all seated around me, I looked between them. “So,” I said. _Where to begin?_ “I’ve learned a lot in the past twelve hours. You all know what a second trigger is?”

Everyone froze. “Oh, Taylor,” Sophia whispered.

“Yes,” I said. “I suffered a second trigger event—a parallel of my first. A betrayal, which led to being confined in a claustrophobic space. But this time, something different happened.”

“You exploded,” said Dennis weakly. “We saw the results when we got there. What the hell happened?”

My eyes darted to him, and then from him to the others. _How do I approach this?_ I wondered.

When I had seen my vision of those creatures the size of a world, stretching out in a million impossible directions, I had remembered the first time I’d seen them too. That memory remained. I now knew what the bout of unconsciousness that came with a trigger event was—it was a moment where the mind, the _Fëa_ , was transported elsewhere.

In that moment, one of those fragments, like the one I’d fought off, would latch onto the host. This fragment, I realized, _was a power_.

Vista’s ability to warp space was contained within one such fragment. Shadow Stalker’s ability to meld into the dark was contained within another. Aegis’ resilience, Browbeat’s mutability, and Clockblocker’s dominion over time were each merely loans to them from these other creatures, these parts of a whole.

Or they had been, until I slipped Rings of Power upon their fingers. Now I wasn’t so sure.

But they didn’t remember their visions. I’d forgotten mine, and no one had mentioned them. How did I even begin to broach the subject? Where did I start?

I decided to skip it all. There would be time to figure out the mysteries of powers and visions and monstrous things in the space between worlds. For now, it was easier to just avoid the whole thing and stick with the basics. “My second trigger unlocked new powers in me,” I said. “And new insights. For instance,” I looked at Panacea, “I think I can now explain what you saw of my Corona Pollentia and Gemma.”

Her eyes widened. “What, really? How?”

“It’s a long story,” I said, “and I don’t know all of it yet.”

_Maia._

“I’m not a parahuman,” I said.

“Wait, what?” said Dennis. “How’s that work?”

“I… saw something,” I said slowly. “The details are complicated. I saw what gives parahumans power. I didn’t get mine that way.”

“Okay, no,” said Vista. “You can’t just avoid the subject—”

“We have two masters and a Ring of Power unaccounted for in this city right now,” I said coldly. “I am _not_ getting into this right now.”

“Then what _do_ you get your power from?” Dean said, staring at me. “If it’s not from a trigger or—or a vial, and those are somehow the same, what’s different about you.”

I pursed my lips. “I’m not a parahuman,” I said. “I’m not _human_ at all.”

For a moment there was silence.

“What.” Brian’s voice was flat.

“I don’t know what I am,” I said, studying Búrzashdurb in my hand. “Not exactly. I’m starting to remember—flashes, scraps of memory.” _Fire, ash, dust, and a golden Ring at the heart of it all._ “But I know that where your powers are… given to you, by those parts of your brains that are atrophied in mine, my powers are _inherent_. And last night, I unlocked more of them.”

“Shapeshifting,” said Sophia quietly.

“Among other things,” I nodded. Then I smiled. “So, you see, Heartbreaker made a grave mistake in going after me and my Rings of Power. He failed to kill me—and what doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger.”

They stared at me. Then Chris, in a slightly shaky voice, said, “Annatar, your eyes are—”

“I did say ‘among other things,’ didn’t I?” I asked rhetorically. “Now, to business. I have no intention of letting Heartbreaker escape this. The sun rises in about an hour, and by that time I want to be out there, seeking him out.”

“We can’t just go off on our own,” Carlos protested weakly. “We’re _Wards_. We need approval, support—”

“Let me handle that,” I said easily. “When I get Piggot and Armsmaster’s approval, I want Clockblocker, Gallant, and Aegis, possibly with support from the Protectorate, to make contact with New Wave. Inform them of the situation, and get their support.”

“I mean,” said Dennis, “I’m always up to visit my girlfriend, but—”

“Would you rather she _not know_?” I asked, looking him in the eye. “Heartbreaker’s presence is not public knowledge. I don’t think it’s been leaked yet. Would you rather let Laserdream go innocently about her day with no idea of the danger she’s in?”

Dennis went pale. “No. All right, you got it.”

I nodded. “Fume, you’ll work with Browbeat, Vista, and probably Assault,” I said. “I need you to make contact with Faultline’s crew and, if possible, with Regent. Trickster was the one who broke him out of our custody, so he’s likely working with Coil. I somehow doubt he’ll be happy to hear his father is in town.”

“His… father?” Brian asked blankly.

I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know?” Then I shook my head. “Aegis can catch you up—I don’t have time, I need to talk to Piggot. Shadow Stalker,” I turned to Sophia, “are you in a position to communicate with the Empire through Oracle?”

Sophia paled. “Uh. No. Definitely not.”

“Fine. You, Kid Win, Panacea and I will stay at base until the others return, and then we’ll go after Heartbreaker.”

“What, today? Now?” Aegis asked. “We don’t even know where he is—”

“Leave that to me, the Protectorate, and Dragon,” I said. “We will, and when we do, we’ll take him out. Yes, today. And in the next few days, I’m going to want us to make contact with the Empire and the ABB.”

“Uh,” Sam said, grimacing. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Right now?”

“Yes,” I said, twirling Búrzashdurb in my hand. It hummed through the air like an angry wasp. “I’m not going to tolerate Heartbreaker in my city any longer, and I fail to see why I should stop there. They will heel, or they will be crushed.”

_And if they submit, I might finally be able to give out the Nine._


	77. Wildfire 9.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill for betareading.  
> Many thanks to @Assembler and ShadowStepper1300 for fact checking.

When I reached the door to Piggot’s office, I allowed myself a moment before knocking. This part wouldn’t be too hard, if all went well—Piggot and I tended to understand one another, and she was a practiced compromiser. It should be eminently possible to get her support.

That wasn’t what I was worried about. The true test would follow, when I had to talk to the Protectorate. Miss Militia didn’t trust me, which already made things difficult, but I was honestly more worried about Armsmaster.

The man was proud, yes—but he was proud of his heroism. It would be hard to get a man like that to willingly compromise.

But, then, I didn’t have to convince _everyone_ to go along with my plans. Just enough of them that the rest couldn’t stop us. And that, at least, I could do.

I raised my fist and knocked on the door. It wouldn’t do to start the conversation by putting the Director on edge.

“Come in!” she called.

I obeyed, carefully hiding away the chafing of subservience. I was immediately glad I had, when I saw who was in the office. Piggot wasn’t alone.

She seemed shorter than she had when I’d last seen her, at the fight with Leviathan, but that was probably because I was taller. Her eyes, deep and blue as the sea, met mine at once. I immediately missed the flicker of life behind one of them—a prosthetic?

“Annatar,” she said. “Just the person I wanted to see.” Her voice was soft, quite unlike the shouting I had heard as we fought Leviathan. Its pitch was low, and there was a silken edge to it.

I had to suppress a smile. If I could hear the cloak and dagger in her voice after just eight words, what would I learn in a whole conversation?

“Alexandria,” I said with a carefully deferential nod. “You’re our support, I assume?”

“That’s right,” she said. “Director Piggot sent a request up to Chief Director Costa-Brown, and I was dispatched to assist in, if possible, capturing Heartbreaker and Valefor.”

“Your help will be appreciated,” I said, glancing at Piggot. There was a hard look on her face—not a surprise, given how she felt about powerful parahumans as a rule, and Alexandria was exactly the sort of vainglorious figure that she would despise, even as she was forced by need to be welcoming. “I was just coming to the Director to discuss that, actually.”

“Fine,” Piggot said. Her voice was oddly weak, in comparison to Alexandria’s or mine. She was, after all, only human. “First, though—what happened to your armor, and what’s with the ears?”

I sighed. “It’s just soot,” I said patiently. “And—I just second triggered. Among my new powers is shapeshifting.”

Piggot stared at me for a moment, and then put her head in her hands, heedless of Alexandria’s presence. “You realize I have to put you in M/S confinement now, yes?”

“You could,” I said dryly, “or we could win.”

Piggot didn’t move. Alexandria cleared her throat. “Director, you’re aware of my thinker power? I don’t believe she’s an impostor.”

The Director glanced up at her. “I’ll take it,” she said. “Annatar, you said you wanted to discuss Heartbreaker?”

“Yes,” I answered. “I want him stopped. Today.”

Piggot’s eyebrows rose. “Today,” she said flatly.

“Yes.”

“And how do you propose to do that? He doesn’t have a kill order. We don’t even know where he is.”

“I have a plan,” I said. “I want a meeting with you and the Protectorate--or at least Armsmaster and Miss Militia. Can you call one?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Not without some idea of your plan.”

“Call the meeting, Director,” said Alexandria, her eyes on me. “Even if Annatar’s plans fall through, I still need to talk to Armsmaster and Miss Militia.”

“All right,” said Piggot with a slight grimace, reaching for her computer.

“Look at it this way, Director,” I said with a twisted smile. “I’ve learned from my mistakes. I’m talking to you this time, aren’t I?”

She chuckled mirthlessly. “That’s true.”

 _After all,_ I thought as I watched her call the heroes together, _I can’t use you if you don’t know your role._

* * *

 

It only took a few minutes to get whatever Protectorate members were available into a conference room. I appreciated the haste—there was only something like half an hour left until sunrise.

Alexandria and Piggot both followed me into the meeting. I didn’t even think they noticed, but I did, and had to hide a smile.

The entire active roster of the Protectorate ENE was in attendance. That fact seemed somehow to conflict with the three exhausted heroes who trickled in after us. Assault’s face was slack with grief and confusion; Miss Militia’s posture was slumped and defeated, and even the usual determined set to Armsmaster’s chin was more downturned than usual.

“Alexandria,” greeted the tinker with a nod as he walked in, the first to arrive. “I wasn’t aware you’d be coming. Dragon’s already on her way as well; I assume that’s not a problem?”

“No,” I replied for her. “The more, the merrier, I think.”

“I agree,” he said, giving me a nod. “It’s good to see you’ve recovered, Annatar. Is that new equipment?”

“The mace is new,” I said, fingering the haft of Búrzashdurb. “The armor’s just sooty from the forge.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome to use the nanoforges. They’re cleaner.”

I smiled slightly at his ignorance. “Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind.”

The other two heroes filed in soon afterward. They each greeted Alexandria. I carefully observed Miss Militia’s near-hero worship and Assault’s near-terror, and made a note of both in that place where I kept information I could use.

“What’s this about, Director?” Miss Militia asked Piggot once they were all seated. “Do you have a plan of action?”

“Annatar has something to propose,” said Piggot, glancing at me.

“Yes,” I said, giving her an approving nod. “Armsmaster, you said Dragon was already on her way?”

“She is,” he confirmed. “Dragon should be here within the hour.”

“Perfect,” I said. “I’ll want her to locate Heartbreaker as fast as possible. Once she’s done that, all that remains is to lay siege and take him out.”

A momentary silence fell.

“A direct assault?” Miss Militia asked in disbelief. “ _That’s_ your strategy? That—”

“Is our best option,” I cut her off. “Or would you rather let him continue to abuse his power?” The wording was deliberately chosen, and by the faint flicker of uncertainty in her face, it had the desired effect. “I’m not going to let him continue to have his way,” I said, and noted the way Assault shuddered, “with the people of this city. We can’t kill him or capture him safely, but it’s time we stopped letting him hide behind that. His defenses only grow stronger by the day.”

“We can’t just ignore the damage his thralls could do,” Armsmaster argued.

“And we won’t,” I countered. “You forget, Armsmaster. I said we couldn’t kill or capture him safely. But we have a third option.” I smiled and folded my hands above the table, deliberately flaring Vilya and willing it to emerge from the Unseen. Their eyes darted to the Sapphire Ring as moths drawn to flame. “No one has ever tried mastering the master before.”

“There’s no guarantee that’ll work,” said Miss Militia, but the uncertainty was rooted in her voice.

I took advantage. “What victory has ever been won without risk?” I asked, meeting her eyes. “What injustice has ever been righted without a chance of failure? The heroes winning is _never_ an inevitability, Miss Militia—but I think you know what _is_.”

She swallowed. “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil...” she murmured.

“...Is for good men to do nothing,” I completed the quotation. “Heartbreaker has been winning for years, but he overreached when he came here. In his hubris we will strike him down, and free his victims.”

“You once said that your master power only worked on people with weak wills,” said Armsmaster. There was something odd in his voice, and he wasn’t looking at me, but around the table at the others. “Heartbreaker’s a master.”

“Heartbreaker is an _addict_ ,” I corrected. “Bound to a power that is using him far more than he uses it. No, Armsmaster, I don’t think his will is very strong at all. And even if it was…” I chuckled lowly. “I don’t think that would protect him. Not anymore.”

“Your second trigger,” Alexandria said, watching me closely.

I nodded at her, noting how the the instinctive flinch that went through each of the other parahumans at the table didn’t emerge as even a flicker in her eyes. _Part of her power, or something else?_ I wondered, and remembered a pack of six canisters, each containing a manufactured power.

Aloud, however, I said, “Yes. He hurt me, you see.” My eyes found Assault’s. “And pain only makes me strike back harder.”

Alexandria noticed Assault’s faint shudder, and worked out the layered meaning, but she was the only one.

“I can’t clear this mission without approval,” said Piggot. “The consequences are potentially _international_.”

“Then contact the Chief Director and get approval,” Alexandria said, tearing her eyes from me to glance at Piggot. “I’m confident you’ll get it. We won’t get another chance like this anytime soon.”

On a faint instinct, I looked up at Alexandria. She winked, and I understood. I couldn’t hold back the smile. She likely assumed it was mirth at being let into the secret, but really, I’d have figured it out soon anyway.

What was important was that she had _given_ it to me. I had managed to win the loyalty, not only of two-thirds of the local Protectorate, but of one of the Triumvirate—and, through her, the Chief Director of the PRT.

Piggot _liked_ me, but since she didn’t trust anyone up to and including _herself_ , truly capturing her would be hard—but I was already well on my way, there. The only real variable left was Armsmaster—poor, heroic Armsmaster, with a taste for justice almost as ravenous as his taste for glory. I would need to feed that second appetite carefully, lest I put him on guard and drive him away.

Everything was falling into place. Once the city was under control, I could begin to put it into proper order at last.

No more villains, no more gangs, no more _chaos_ , just a city running in good order.

* * *

 

“Annatar, can I talk to you?”

I blinked at Shadow Stalker. She was waiting outside the door as I left the conference room. There was something uncomfortable in her voice—an uncertainty and a fear. I could use that.

“Sure,” I said. “I was just going to start a project in my forge before Dragon arrived. Walk with me?”

“When you’re done,” said Alexandria behind me, “I’d like a word too, if that’s all right?”

“Of course,” I said, giving her a nod. “I’ll let you know as soon as I’m available. Come, Shadow Stalker.”

She followed me down the hall and into the elevator. As soon as the doors shut behind us, she started talking. “So, do we have a plan?”

I nodded. “Dragon’s on her way here now,” I said. “She’ll find Heartbreaker, and then we’ll go and take him out. I’ll master him with Vilya, and he’ll be finished. Simple.”

“Just a direct assault?” She asked, seeming to relax slightly. “I can get behind that. Think we can do it? He’s dangerous.”

“I know we can,” I said caustically. “I’m dangerous, too.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Now she sounded frustrated. “He could break a _lot_ on the way down, if he’s been putting mastered slaves in the right places over the years. How are we going to deal with that?”

“A few ways,” I said. The elevator door opened, and I stepped out. She followed.

“Like what?”

“Mitigation,” I said. “If I can master him, we can probably nip the worst of it in the bud. Failing that, the Protectorate and PRT infrastructure can handle some instability for a while, until we root out the disease. It shouldn’t take long, with him gone.”

Something about that seemed to bother her, if the slight stiffening of her shoulders was any indication. “What about Heartbreaker’s thralls?” she asked, her voice low and slightly thick. “The ones protecting him?”

“What about them?”

“How are you planning to get through them?” Sophia asked, her voice rising. “He’s bound to use them as hostages or meat-shields.”

I shrugged. “Should be easy enough. You know how to fight, Sophia.”

“What?” The word was almost a gasp. Her voice was blank, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard.

“What’s wrong, Sophia?” I kept my tone carefully friendly. Sophia had been devoted to me for weeks, but now she seemed uncertain. I would have to bring her back under control. Carefully.

“They’re innocent women,” she said. “People whose only crime was to catch his eye! You _know_ some of them—Battery, Velocity, and Triumph! And you want us to go _through_ them?”

“Of course not,” I said, injecting a note of sorrow into the words as I opened the door to my workshop. “His slaves are helpless, and it’s my duty to save them. But I also have to save the ones he hasn’t captured yet. Every hour we wait, he takes more and more. If some must be lost now to save more later… that’s how it has to be.”

It wasn’t a perfect replica of the mask I’d once worn for Sophia—but then, I wasn’t quite the Annatar who had worn it. I was more.

Sophia shook her head minutely. I hadn’t quite put her at ease, it seemed. She looked around at my workshop, at the blackened, soot-stained walls; they lingered on a chair, her usual, now turned black instead of silver. In the end, she just stood, watching me. “What are you forging?” she asked.

“Rings.” I snapped my fingers, and the furnace roared to life.

She blinked. “Like—”

“Yes. The Nine.”

“Really? For who?”

I shrugged noncommittally. “Not certain yet.” It wasn’t even a lie.

“Then why are you making them now? What’s the occasion?”

I considered her. “I have a feeling I’ll find people I can use soon—people who could use Rings of Power.”

She inhaled sharply at that—not quite a gasp, but something in that direction. Her gaze broke from mine. ”People you can _use_ …?” she mumbled, seemingly to herself. Slowly, she reached up and took off her mask. Her eyes, shining slightly in the firelight, sought mine. “Taylor, I’m worried about you. You’re not acting like yourself.”

 _Finally, she spits it out._ “Sorry, that came out wrong.” I took my own helmet off, setting it on my workbench. I couldn’t convince her that nothing was amiss, but maybe I could convince her that it wasn’t anything to worry about. “It’s just... seeing my dad Mastered like that...” I massaged my temples with one hand. “I know I’m going to sound like such a hypocrite. I know _I’ve_ been the one telling you not to act like this. But I’m just... I’m so _angry_...”

I swallowed, shutting my eyes; I leaned against a wall, my armor scraping loudly against it as I sank downward. I heard her intake of breath, and her footfalls as she ran to my side. I half expected to feel her arms around me, but when I looked up, she was just standing there, watching me uncertainly. Not quite convinced, then.

“This is scary, right?” I asked, my voice trembling. “It scares me too. But I promise—once Heartbreaker’s gone, everything will go back to normal. I just… I _need_ this, Sophia. Just for now.”

She bit her lip. “Then why aren’t you _talking_ to us, Taylor?” she asked hesitantly. “I had to push you to get this far. You haven’t done more than give us orders since you woke up. We’re your _friends_ , Taylor.”

“I didn’t want to burden you,” I said, shaking my head and looking down into my lap. “And talking won’t help, anyway. I just need Heartbreaker…” I allowed my voice to audibly catch as I avoided saying something more vicious. “...stopped.”

“He will be,” she promised, but there was still hesitation in her voice. “But… when you were talking to us earlier. You were manipulating Missy and Dennis—I’ve seen you do it before, I know what it looks like. Why? We’re on the same side.”

“I… I didn’t mean to manipulate them,” I said, bringing my hand up to rub my eyes. “I tried to give everyone what they wanted. Missy wants revenge. Dennis wants to protect Laserdream. And I want everyone to work together. Is it really so bad if we all get what we want?”

“I know, it just…” Sophia swallowed. “It feels like everyone is getting what _you_ want. And now you’re forging more Rings, for people you can _use_. Was that how you felt about us, too?”

“No!” I exclaimed, and it was only partly a lie. “It’s not like I’m rushing to hand the Nine out! I just want to be ready—forging the Seven all in one night wasn’t fun. I can’t do much until Dragon gets here, so I thought I’d get a head start, that’s all.” I looked up at her, meeting her eyes. “Don’t ever believe you’re only _useful_ to me,” I told her. “I know I haven’t talked about this before, but… Thank you, Sophia. I know how much you’ve done for me. You’ve been a real friend.”

She swallowed visibly and flushed slightly, looking down at the ground. She shook slightly, as though struggling with herself. “I want to believe you,” she whispered. “I want to believe I really am your friend.”

I smiled. _This_ was what Sophia wanted. I just had to go a little further. “Of course you are,” I said. My eyes flicked to Cenya, sitting on the ring finger of her left hand. I remembered a thousand looks, touches, acts of warmth and kindness. _How long have I been wilfully blind? Sophia doesn’t want my friendship—she wants my love._

 _This_ , I could use. I would even enjoy it.

“But you… you’re so much more than that to me.” I finally stood back up, taking her left hand and lacing my fingers among hers. We were close. Her face was mere inches from mine. Her eyes were dark, forest pools which, were things different, I might have gotten lost in. “I need you, Sophia,” I said softly, a breathy edge coming to my voice. “I need you beside me—now, more than ever.”

She stared up at me. Her lips trembled, and her hand shook in mine. For a moment, I was certain that she would break, and leap into my arms.

Then she squeezed my hand… and let go, stepping away from me. Her eyes were welling up with tears.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered.

“But it’s the truth!” I said, my voice rising in desperation that was only mostly feigned.

She shook her head, looking down. Tears fell, leaving sparkling motes on the blackened floor. “No,” she mumbled, and it almost a sob. “It’s just more manipulation. Like what you did to Missy. That’s all I am to you now—a tool you can lead around by her emotions. Is that all I ever was, Taylor?”

“No, Sophia!” I exclaimed, reaching for her with one hand—not to capture her, but in offering. “I care for you! I do! Don’t you—?”

“More than anything.” She cut me off, looking up. Her face was contorted into a mask of mingled grief, self-loathing, and determination. “That’s why I can’t watch you do this. You’re becoming something you hate.”

My face to twisted in pain. “I haven’t changed!” I shouted. “Can’t you see that? Aren’t I allowed to get angry sometimes?”

That broke her. A sob escaped from her, and brought her hand up to her mouth to cover it. Cenya glittered there, eclipsing the furnace as the sun eclipsed the moon. “Of course you are,” she whispered, her voice muffled even further by her hand. “But you _have_ changed, and I can’t take it anymore.” Her eyes screwed shut. “I don’t want to go… I’ll come back if I can, if it’ll help. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She turned away, and as she turned, the shadows took her in. She melted into them, like a nymph returning to the water, and was gone.

“Sophia!” I screamed, and didn’t have to fake the way my voice broke on the name. She didn’t come back.

When the Wards and I searched the building, we found no trace of her. Sophia had fled.


	78. Wildfire 9.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill, @Assembler, ShadowStepper1300, and @frustratedFreeboota for betareading.

“Why the fuck would _Shadow Stalker_ leave?” Missy asked. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her throw her hands up in the air. “Just when we’re about to take the fight to them!”

My Wards and I were in a conference room in PRT headquarters. We’d gathered back here after our search for Sophia had failed to turn up anything. Clockblocker, Gallant, and Aegis were still out, meeting with New Wave. Kid Win was on the console, watching them. The rest of us were here, waiting for word from the Protectorate and Piggot.

The others were seated on the couches and armchairs around the television, which was off. I stood apart, hands clasped behind my back, looking out at the eastern horizon. The sun shone fiery over the city around me, reflecting off of glass and polished stone.

“It’s my fault, in part,” I said, affecting a mournful tone. “I asked her to approach Oracle of the E88. I think that’s where this started.”

“Where what started?” Sam asked.

“I think Sophia was mastered,” I lied. I glanced back at the others. “Rings of Power can only protect you if you _want_ to be protected, and Sophia was friends with Oracle out of costume. Based on what she was saying before she left… she sounded just like Oracle did, when we fought her a few weeks ago.”

“So you think Oracle got to her as a civilian and then mastered her?” Amy stared at me. “I can’t believe Shadow Stalker would let her guard down like that, especially around someone from the Empire.”

“Oracle wasn’t always Empire,” I said, remembering a girl with red hair and a smile which, in retrospect, seemed all too innocent. “Sophia felt responsible for her trigger, and for her joining the Empire. She wanted to pull her out of it. I suppose it backfired.”

“Well, we have to get her out,” Sam said firmly. “We can’t let her stay there.”

“One master at a time,” I said, shaking my head. “Heartbreaker _has_ to come first. We’re already ready to face him, and we can’t turn aside now. We can help her as soon as we take him down.”

“Assuming the Protectorate ever gets back to us,” Missy growled.

“They will,” I assured her without looking away from the window. “It won’t be long now. We must be patient.”

“I’ve never been good at patience,” muttered Brian.

At these words a memory came upon me, like a flame bursting to life in the dark.

_ “The king of Rohan has fled his halls, my lord. His people make for their refuge at Helm’s Deep. They will not long survive a siege there, without supplies or support.” _

_ “I do not want a siege, Wizard. You have an army. Use it. Bring the fortress down.” _

The image of the Istar, robed in many colors, came and went in a flash. I smiled as I shook myself free of the reverie. My teeth flashed in my reflection in the glass of the window. “Nor am I,” I admitted with a low chuckle.

At that moment, the door opened behind me. The heavy metallic footfalls immediately told me who had arrived. “Armsmaster,” I said without turning. “Any news?”

“Dragon’s arrived,” he said. “She’s on the roof right now, working on her analysis. She’d like your help.”

“I’ll be happy to assist her,” I said, stepping away from the window. I took Búrzashdurb from the table and hooked it to my belt, looking at Armsmaster. “The roof, you said?”

He nodded. “I’d go with you, but I want to finish a modification to my halberd before we move out.”

“Very well,” I said. “Go. We will tell you as soon as anything changes.” I turned to my Wards. “If you’re still tired, get some rest. Otherwise, train. I’ll call you when you’re needed.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Vista with a deferential nod. “Hope you find him soon.”

“I doubt it’ll take long,” I answered, turning away. My mace clanked against my armor as I strode away.

* * *

 

“Dragon,” I called as I emerged onto the roof. “Welcome back to Brockton Bay.”

The Canadian hero was resplendent in her golden power armor, intricately engraved with images of dragons’ maws snarling and outspread leathery wings. She stood about six and a half feet tall, still a little taller than me after my recent changes, and shone brighter than the glittering sea behind her.

She turned away from the horizon and gave me a nod. “It’s good to be back, Annatar.” Then she hesitated. “Uh, your armor…?”

“It’s just soot,” I said. “Although I have to admit, it does make me more intimidating. I might keep it until things are finished here.”

“Finished?” Dragon asked, with a faint laugh, crackling slightly as it came through the speakers of her suit. “A hero’s work is never _finished_ , Annatar. There’s always more to do.”

“Forgive me,” I said, “but I think that means you’re doing it wrong.”

“Oh?” she said, and I got the impression of a raised eyebrow. “And what would you suggest we do differently?”

“I’m not suggesting anything absurd,” I said. “Just… efficient. We need to be more proactive.” I came forward and stood beside her as she gazed out at the sea. “Before I joined, the Protectorate never seemed to _attack_ the villains. They just waited for the villains to act, and then responded. A reactive force is a force that’s always struggling to keep up.”

She considered me. “That’s a dangerous approach,” she warned. “It’s easy to go from _proactive_ to _preemptive_ , and then…”

“Then there’s little to distinguish us from the villains,” I agreed. “I know, Dragon. But I’m… fundamentally _different_ from the villains.”

“We’d all like to think that,” she said quietly. “I’ve never seen it hold true.”

“But surely you agree that _you’re_ different?”

She didn’t answer for a moment. “I’d rather not find out.”

“You fear your own power?” I allowed shock and pity to creep into my voice. “Why? Why fear yourself? Think of all the good you could do if you didn’t hold yourself back.”

“It’s not that simple...” I didn’t think her heart was really in it. “I _am_ dangerous, Annatar. And so are you.”

“We’re dangerous, yes,” I agreed. “But that doesn’t make us _problems_. In our case, it makes us _solutions_.” I shook my head. “Villains are _selfish_ , Dragon. That’s the core paradigm of villainy. It’s placing what _you_ want over the greater good. Neither you nor I are susceptible to that flaw.”

“I wish I shared your confidence,” she murmured.

“You should.” I turned to her properly, studying her. Her body language gave almost nothing away. She didn’t seem to be emoting at all. “When have you ever done anything to earn mistrust? Especially your own? You don’t _deserve_ that, Dragon. You’re one of the most selfless, most _heroic_ superheroes I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.”

She was still—unnaturally so, as though she had stopped interacting with her own body momentarily. “I appreciate that, Annatar,” she said, and her voice was somewhat wooden, almost emotionless. “It means a great deal, coming from you.” Then she turned to me. “You told the Wards that you weren’t human, this morning. Why?”

“It’s the truth.” A faint smile spread across my face. Dragon cared about this. She _wanted_ me to be inhuman. And I gave people what they wanted. “You saw my medical reports—my Corona and Gemma are dead. The others think I’m just a parahuman, but they’re wrong. My power is part of me, and it’s only a sliver of what I really am.”

I sang a low, gravelly melody, like the purring of some great beast. Images of the ancient wyrms, winged and fierce and brimming with fire, filled my mind’s eye. Slowly, my skin rippled and changed. Silver scales, hard as mithril, covered my face. My eyes narrowed, turning green and slitted as my ears swept backward. I had expected Dragon to recoil, but instead she leaned forward, fascinated.

“Don’t be fooled by the flesh and blood you once saw before you. It is but a guise I wear, when I choose to walk alongside human beings. In truth, I am far greater.” I smirked, showing off newly pointed teeth. “And far more dangerous.”

“What are you?” Dragon asked, almost breathless. “Can I ask?”

“Call me Maia,” I said, posing so that my scales glittered in the Eastern sunlight. “I am powerful, unchained, undiminished. And I plan to stay that way.”

“It’s… it’s an honor,” Dragon said. There was reticence on her voice. She wasn’t saying something. But I didn’t think she was unwilling—just unready. I would push her no further this time. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

“You are very welcome, Dragon,” I said. “But please, keep this between us?”

“Of course. I understand.”

“Thank you.” I smiled once more, satisfied. “So, what have you found of Heartbreaker?”

“I’ve been working on locating him,” she said. “Since his attack on you failed, he’s probably planning to get out of the city today, assuming he hasn’t already left.”

“If he’s left, we’ll hunt him down,” I said firmly. “He’s not getting away this time.”

“I agree with the sentiment, but _finding_ him will become a lot harder if he’s not in the city,” said Dragon. “I can do a lot, but there are almost seven billion people on the planet and more than three hundred million in this country. That’s a _lot_ of data to sift through.”

I nodded. “I understand. Let’s find out if he’s still in the Bay, first. You keep sifting through data—I’ve got my own way of searching.”

She nodded and turned away, crossing over to a makeshift computer console which faced away from the water.

I, meanwhile, looked out over the city— _my_ city—and felt the fierce, possessive love of a lord over her fiefdom rising in me.

I remembered a plain of dust and ash, where every resource and speck of life was bent to working my will. I remembered the flame atop the mountain, and the dark watchtower overseeing it all. I might not remember much of that past life as a Maia undiminished—little more than images and a few names had come back to me, so far—but I remembered what it had felt like to rule over the land itself. The people might be transient and fickle, but if one ruled the _land_ , then the kingdom would remain for centuries.

That old country had _looked_ different, perhaps, but at its core, it was just another place—and like Brockton, it had been suffused with my power.

_ This place is mine, _ I thought. _This city is my city. Its power is my power, its life my life. It is bound to me._

Even before I had awakened fully, my Rings of Power, forged of the Song and the Discord, were exposing the city to power that was uniquely mine. The city had already begun to shift into a shape that was more in accordance with my desires.

It was astonishing that no one had noticed the steady decay and dissolution of the boat graveyard. The coast was almost clear, now, and the sea shone bright and largely unmarred by rusted metal, and no one had noticed. Even _I_ had not noticed until I knew what to look for.

_ A Maia has sung into the bones of this land, and the land has listened. _

Nothing could hide from me in Gorgoroth, should I bend my attention to seeking it out. Brockton Bay, this city of mine, was no different.

And now it would help me find my enemy, if he was still here.

The PRT building was not the tallest nor the largest building downtown. It stood taller than its immediate neighbors, but higher skyscrapers dotted the surrounding city. That was no real barrier, however. The watchtower hadn’t been as tall as the mountain, but I’d still been able to survey all of my kingdom.

So. Where was he? I scanned the city, my physical eyes darting hither and thither along the horizon as they mirrored my metaphysical gaze.

I saw it then—a cancerous stain in the north part of the city. It lingered like a black ooze, seeping into the living ichor of the Bay. A sickness infecting my territory.

It wasn’t the only one. The Empire’s influence was a sickly haze over the South, and the ABB was a pestilent fume in the North. Coil’s forces dotted downtown like burning embers—I could already see Narya’s influence spreading. Valefor was there, too, like a blistering outbreak in the East. I would have to clean them away soon. But there was no mistaking that thick, viscous tar of enforced loyalty and thralldom.

And it all came back to one nexus—one cell at the center of the infection. Follow the sickness back to the source….

“I’ve found him,” I said to Dragon. “He’s still here.”

_ But not, _ I thought, with grim satisfaction, _for much longer._

* * *

 

“Heartbreaker’s holed up here,” Dragon said, pointing down at a map of Brockton Bay. “It’s a fairly large house, but the family moved away after Leviathan. They had a housekeeper maintaining the place, and we think Heartbreaker’s mastered her and is keeping his full group there for the time being.”

“Great,” said Piggot as she and Alexandria leaned over the map. “Fantastic work, both of you. Do we know anything about what he’s doing?”

“Running away,” I said, smirking with teeth that were human once more. I couldn’t help but glance back to Dragon. _Back to the masquerade for us._ “He knows his attempt on me failed last night, and he’s cutting his losses. He’s currently trying to get transportation out of the city. He’ll be gone by nightfall.”

“And with three of our heroes,” Armsmaster said with a grimace. “Well, we have to stop him if at all possible.”

“Oh, it’s possible,” I said. “My Ring-Bearers will be immune to Heartbreaker—”

“The parahuman who was at your house was able to affect you,” Piggot interrupted. “He was probably one of Heartbreaker’s kids, like Regent. And you said you think Shadow Stalker was mastered by Oracle. Why should Heartbreaker himself be any different?”

“Shutdown was _disabling_ us,” I said. “Rings of Power don’t protect from that. But Heartbreaker himself would be _subsuming our will_. He would be trying to _control_ us.”

“That sounds pretty damn semantic. And isn’t that what happened to Shadow Stalker?”

“It’s a conceptual difference,” I replied, “but it’s an important one. I promise you, Director, my Ring-Bearers have nothing to fear from Heartbreaker. We’d have to _let_ him win—which is exactly what happened to Shadow Stalker. Oracle manipulated her, played on their friendship until she let her guard down.” I shook my head. “If we can just get Shadow Stalker back here, capture her, I can break Oracle’s control, I know it. And she won’t falter again. For now, though, we have to focus on the enemy in front of us.”

“ _I’ll_ almost certainly be immune to any of Heartbreaker’s kids’ powers,” said Alexandria. “Most powers that manipulate physiology don’t work on me. So if all else fails, I can take down whoever’s attacking Annatar and the Wards.”

Piggot studied me. “A lot is riding on this, Annatar. You’ve tested your Rings against Valefor, but not Heartbreaker. If you’re wrong….”

“I’m not wrong,” I said firmly, meeting her gaze. “This is the only way we take out Heartbreaker today. All that remains is for you to decide whether you trust me.” I smiled tightly. “So. Do you?”

She gritted her teeth and, after a moment, looked away. “Dammit. Yes.”

My smile widened. _I win._ “Then let’s get moving. I’ll get the Wards. Dragon, you get Armsmaster. Alexandria, you find Assault, and Director, if you could set up transportation through the PRT?”

“Fine. My people aren’t getting within five blocks of that psychopath.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “We can take it from there—we just need transportation, and preferably in civilian vehicles. We don’t want to tip him off if we can avoid it.”

Piggot nodded. “I can do that. Meet in the garage in twenty minutes, suited up.”

“Agreed,” I said, and turned away.

“And Annatar?” Piggot called after me.

I halted. “Yes?”

“ _Master_ him. Don’t kill him if you can avoid it.”

I smiled. “Of course. The punishment should suit the crime.”


	79. Wildfire 9.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill, @Assembler, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.

“ _The PRT perimeter has closed,_ ” Fume radioed from the console. “ _M/S protocols are in effect. Everyone’s ready when you are, Annatar._ ”

Búrzashdurb clanged on my pauldron as I hefted it onto my shoulder. I stood up from where I’d been kneeling in an alley, about a block from the suburban house where Heartbreaker had been staying. We’d arrived just in time, going by the three cars assembled outside the house. “Oh, I’m ready,” I growled. “Ring-Bearers, you have your orders. Move in on my mark.”

I stepped out of the alley. My booted feet clanged forcefully against the cement of the sidewalk as I turned to face the house. Someone ducked behind a hedge as I emerged—they knew I was here.

_Good._

“Attack.” The order wasn’t loud, complicated, or eloquent. It simply _was_ —a statement of intent and of fact.

I didn’t bother to run. Why end this any faster than I needed to, after all? I just slowly walked forward as the Wards emerged from their hiding spaces around me and began to charge the house.

“ _One of the vehicles is tinkertech. My grenades aren’t working on it. I’m disabling the others,_ ” came Kid Win’s voice over the radio. A moment later, there was a burst of light and sound as an engine exploded. A woman started screaming.

“ _Shit,_ ” Kid Win said breathlessly. “ _I injured a civilian._ ”

“There are no civilians here,” I said flatly. “Only his thralls. We _can’t_ let him get away, Kid Win. Don’t hurt anyone you don’t have to, but above all _do not hesitate_.”

“ _…Yes, Ma’am,_ ” he said, with a mix of resignation, grief, and determination. A moment later, another car exploded. The screaming stopped.

For an instant, I saw a blur of red emerging from the cast-iron gate of the house’s yard, and then Velocity was in my face, his fist driving at my eye. My hand snapped up and caught his wrist in midair.

I met his wild, frenzied gaze. Feverish zealotry slowly gave way to mounting horror. Then horror turned to agony as I flexed my fingers, snapping the bone beneath. He crumpled to his knees. I kicked him once in the head, and he was out. “Velocity is down,” I reported. “Injured, but not maimed.”

“ _Good,_ ” said Fume. “ _One enemy cape down, I guess._ ”

I kept walking forward. Thralls began to emerge from the gate—women, mostly, armed with anything from kitchen knives to pitchforks. Even as they emerged, however, space stretched around them, and they found themselves running into walls and lampposts all over the street. From there, the other Wards dispatched them. I didn’t have to do anything.

“ _Thanks, Vista,_ ” said Gallant, even as I saw him hit a girl with a blast of some emotion that sent her reeling.

Vista offered no reply.

I continued up the sidewalk for a few more paces before anything changed. A boy, perhaps a little younger than Shutdown had been, stepped out of the gate, still half a block ahead of me. He turned his gaze on me, and stretched out his arms in opposite directions, as though pushing the air away from him.

Suddenly a great terror over me. _Run away,_ some deep instinct seemed to tell me. _Don’t take another step forward! Don’t come any closer!_

The next step I took was like pushing through mud. The one after was clay. Then Gallant was lifting his Ring of Power in the air, and its orange light passed over me. Courage rekindled in my heart, driving back the dark voice, and my chest loosened somewhat.

“ _Thanks, Gallant,_ ” said Vista, with an odd roughness in her voice.

“ _Happy to help,_ ” answered Gallant, and there was a smile in his tone.

Courage warred with fear. Pressing on was easier, but still hindered. This wouldn’t do. “Vista,” I ordered. “Get him close to me.”

I gestured with Vilya, and a gust of wind pushed into the boy’s back. He stumbled forward, just as Vista shortened the space between us. Suddenly, he was barely a foot from me. The terror in my chest grew almost insurmountable, drowning out Gallant’s power.

I ignored it. Búrzashdurb swung out, fast as lightning, and struck the boy across the side. Blood erupted from the wound, bone shattered like glass, and his ruined body flew across the street and smacked wetly into the wall of the house next door, leaving a smear of gore on the brickwork as it slid to the ground.

“One of Heartbreaker’s kids is down,” I reported as I continued on. “Dead.”

“ _Very dead,_ ” agreed Fume weakly.

Just as I passed the beginning of the hedge which lined the house, a shockwave burst from the other side. It blew through the greenery and passed over me, shrieking and grating and loud as an airplane. Triumph followed behind me, a baseball bat aimed straight for my face.

_Using sound against a Maia? Unwise._

He’d expected the shockwave to at least stagger me. He was disappointed. I reached up, grabbed the bat, and snapped it in two before swinging Búrzashdurb in a low arc which swept his feet out from under him.

I took one step and placed my foot on his throat. Then I pressed down—not hard enough to crush him, but hard enough to close his windpipe.

He struggled, and I met his eyes and watched. I ignored the bursts of sound he sent my way, ignored the scrabbling of his fingers clawing at my boot, ignored the growing blue tint to his face, and the way those struggles grew weaker and weaker until they stopped.

Then I lifted my foot, kicked him onto his side when he started coughing, and kept going. “Triumph is down,” I said. “Unconscious.”

“ _Has anyone ever told you that you’re one scary motherfucker, Annatar?_ ” asked Clockblocker.

A faint grin touched my lips. “Flatterer.”

I pushed through the ruined hedge and was met with a sight that came as no surprise.

The last remaining car had an exposed tinkertech mechanism where its hood plating should have been. It was an eight-seat SUV, and all but the shotgun seat were full, mostly with children. One woman sat in the driver’s seat.

The passenger side door was open, and there he stood. Heartbreaker. I recognized him from the photographs I’d seen online and in his file. He wasn’t unattractive—it almost would have been easier if he had been. At least then things would have made more sense. But his thick blond hair was cut into a fine curtain which framed his angular face, and his lean form was wiry and muscular. His blue eyes, almost the color of a lightning bolt, met mine.

In one hand was a knife. In the other, he held Battery’s waist. She leaned against him, baring her throat for him, glaring at me with frenzied hate in her eyes.

“Annatar,” he said, and his voice was oily and smooth. “Not quite how I imagined we’d meet.”

I stepped forward.

“Not another step,” he said sharply. “Or Battery here gets it!”

I stopped. I felt the faint flickerings of his will on the edge of my mind, trying to bend me. I ignored it.

“Good,” he said, a grin coming to his lips. “Now, let’s negotiate terms.”

“No,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?” His power pressed harder on my defenses, trying to force its way through.

“No,” I repeated, and now I responded. I seized the reaching hand of his power and crushed it in my grip before casting it aside. “There will be no terms. I won’t accept surrender.”

The smile slipped from his face with a wince. “What?”

I raised my left hand and pointed. Lightning lanced forth from Vilya. It struck Battery, passed through her into Heartbreaker, and then passed into the car. For a moment, the windows glowed from within with a blue-white light, and then that light faded and all that was left inside the car were seven faintly smoking bodies.

They weren’t dead yet. I hadn’t hit them hard enough for that.

Heartbreaker and Battery crumpled. I came forward, grabbed Battery’s wrist, and roughly pulled her off of him. I cast her aside, reached down, and closed my gauntleted hand around Heartbreaker’s throat. His pained grunt was cut off with a squelch as I squeezed. His eyes opened rolling and slowly found their way to my face.

I raised him up, lifting him into the air above me, staring into his face. Our gazes were locked, and the fear in his was palpable. “There will be no surrender,” I told him, my voice level and quiet. “It’s over.”

I threw him to the side. He hit the ground hard and rolled a short way, landing on his back. He struggled feebly, trying to sit up as I approached again.

I grabbed his hair and pulled him up, kneeling down myself so we were almost level. His eyes were wild now, though his gaze was unfocused. “Please,” he wheezed. “You can’t—you’re a _hero_ —I’ll do anything—”

My eyes narrowed. Another memory broke upon me, of another pale, desperate little creature, exposed to something too powerful and too tempting for his frail will.

 _“They hurts us, precious! They hurts us, please!_ ”

That creature had proven troublesome. I had thought it less than a worm, even less than Heartbreaker was now. I had spared it, amused by the idea of making it crawl on my behalf. I remembered little of its fate, but I knew that mercy had doomed me. It was a mistake I would not make again.

I nodded. “Yes. You will.” Búrzashdurb dropped to the ground, and I shifted my grip on his hair to my right hand. My left hand cupped his cheek in a macabre parody of affection. “The punishment, after all,” I said quietly, “should suit the crime.”

Vilya shone, and I bent my will upon him. His face froze, muscles standing out and twitching. I was not gentle—my mind burned down his resistance like raiders burning down the walls of a castle. His eyes glazed over, the light leaving them.

 _Until today,_ I thought, _there was no escape for your victims, save one. Let it be the same for you._

I broke through his defenses and had control in moments. Then I went further, and further still, until there was little enough of Nikos Vasil left that I could never again have released him if I’d wanted to. That he could never again resist me. And deep inside, I found his connection to that thing which gave him his power. I found the tendril of Silence anchored to his Fëa like a harpoon buried in the flesh of a whale.

I grasped the tether, and my gaze followed it outward. For a moment, my eyes met the thing’s millions.

In the physical world, I spoke a question aloud. “Can you undo your own power?”

Slowly, like a child, the shell that had once been Nikos Vasil nodded.

I pursed my lips. For a moment, my grasp on the bond between the parasite and its host tightened. I felt it straining under my grasp, struggling to hold itself together.

Then I drove it deeper. Vasil’s body jerked, and a gasp of pain escaped his slack lips.

Reluctantly, I let go, and allowed the tether to remain. I released Vasil’s hair and stood up. For a moment I looked down at him as his eyes closed and he slipped into unconsciousness.

Then I reached down, picked up Búrzashdurb, and walked away.

* * *

 

“Our heroes were all recovered safely,” Miss Militia reported. “No casualties.”

The four of us—Piggot, Alexandria, Miss Militia, and I—were seated around a PRT conference table. It was the first moment of peace any of us had gotten in hours. First there had been the planning and execution of the assault, and then there had been the cleanup, but at last that was mostly done. The remaining thralls were rounded up and in M/S confinement, and the site of the battle had been quarantined.

“Good,” said Piggot with a sigh. “The civilian casualties aren’t ideal…”

“Heartbreaker’s a master 9,” said Alexandria evenly. “This was a pretty damn good outcome, all told. No one’s going to hold a few civilian casualties against your department for this one.”

“It’s a shame it was necessary,” said Miss Militia, glancing at me. “I can’t help but wonder if we could have done better.”

“Probably,” I shrugged. “But we could have also done _far_ worse. We _needed_ to win, Miss Militia. We couldn’t allow Heartbreaker to carry on. Without our intervention, those people would have _all_ been effectively dead—or at least, dead to their loved ones, and the rest of the world. We _won_ today, unequivocally.”

“I know,” she grimaced. “It just… doesn’t seem right.”

“War never does,” I said dryly. “And yet it is sometimes necessary.”

“Heartbreaker hasn’t woken up yet,” Piggot said, glancing down at her computer. “He’s in a holding cell now, with electronic surveillance.”

“He sleeps and wakes at my pleasure,” I said, smiling slightly. “He’ll be ready whenever you need him.”

Piggot shuddered. “I don’t want to know.”

“He’s able to free his thralls?” Alexandria asked.

“Of course.” I bared my teeth. “Let him be the instrument of his own undoing.”

The corner of Piggot’s mouth turned up. “Poetic,” she muttered. “And what happens when we’re done? Just straight to the Birdcage with him?”

“If not worse,” said Alexandria dryly. “The PRT has a kill order waiting for a single signature on Heartbreaker. I doubt they’ll much mind anything.”

I shrugged. “This is a conversation for another day, _after_ we’ve used him to fix what he’s broken.”

“Right,” said Piggot, leaning forward. “We’re on a roll, and I don’t think we can afford to stop, with Valefor still at large, Coil in possession of Narya, and Shadow Stalker possibly captured. What’s our next move?”

“Shouldn’t Armsmaster be here to discuss this?” Miss Militia asked. “Why isn’t he here?”

Piggot frowned. “I asked Dragon to tell him we were meeting. What’s taking so long?” She reached for her keyboard, but before she could tap so much as a single key, the room’s speakers came to life.

“I’m sorry, Director,” said Dragon, and I instantly recognized the wooden, flat voice from my conversation with her earlier. She had shut down again.

“What’s wrong, Dragon?” I asked, sitting up straight. “What’s happened?”

There was a pause. “It’s Armsmaster,” she said, still with that perfect, artificial poise. Something inside me told me that behind the audible mask, she was crying. “He’s—he left a message. I’ll play it back.”

Then the familiar voice kicked in. “ _This is Armsmaster._ ” He sounded bone-tired, and worry gnawed at his voice like rats. “ _Director Piggot, I’m sorry that I’ve failed to give my two weeks’ notice. You can consider this my resignation from the Protectorate ENE._ ”

“ _What!?_ ” Piggot bellowed, her hands slamming on the table. “What the—!?”

“Quiet,” I growled. The recording was continuing.

“ _I was watching the Wards’ helmet cams during this mission—the assault on Heartbreaker,_ ” Armsmaster continued. “ _I saw Annatar’s behavior. I’m going to the Chief Director and Legend about it—and I don’t feel I can do it from inside the ENE branch right now._ ”

I glanced at Alexandria. Her eyes met mine, and I saw the ghost of a smile on her lips.

“ _Annatar engaged in behavior that I would call villainous, except that I’ve seen few villains who were so ruthless,_ ” Armsmaster continued. “ _Maybe the mission could have been better executed, maybe not—but if not, it’s certainly no thanks to Annatar holding back. She did nothing of the sort, despite civilians and fellow heroes in the way._ ”

I leaned back in my chair and let the words wash over me. _Hopefully he’s nearly done. Long-winded, isn’t he?_

“ _Annatar, since I know you’ll hear this, I’m speaking to you now,_ ” he said. Now his voice was hard and angry. “ _I know triggers are hard. I can only imagine what a second trigger is like. I’m willing to grant a lot of leeway. But there’s a limit, and you crossed it today, and I’m not sure I can trust the Director to be circumspect in dealing with you. Human life is_ valuable _. But then, you claim not to_ be _human, so you might disagree._ ” Then he sighed audibly. “ _I’ll be honest: I_ liked _you, Annatar. I hope we can put this all behind us, one day. But I have to do what’s right, and I don’t think anyone else is going to right now. So long._ ”

There was silence for a moment. Then I stood up. The first thing I said was, “Dragon, I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t reply.

Then I looked around at the rest of the room. “Anybody else want to leave the Protectorate in protest of me doing what was necessary?” I asked evenly.

“This is ridiculous,” muttered Piggot, massaging her temples. “Could he have been mastered, too? Seems like masters are popping out of the woodwork right now.”

“It’s worth putting out an alert,” I said, nodding at her. “We’ll put him on the list of heroes we need to recover, and hope it doesn’t extend past him and Shadow Stalker.”

“Do you think it was a master?” Miss Militia asked. “Oracle again, perhaps?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe his pride was hurt because I wouldn’t give him Narya, when we were fighting Leviathan. Or he really does think I’m a monster. It could be a combination of all three. Either way, we can’t let this stop us. We need to press on.”

“Agreed,” said Piggot grimly.

As the conversation continued, I allowed myself to withdraw from it for a few minutes. I sat back down and looked down into my lap. My fists were clenched tightly in it.

I had _known_ Armsmaster was a potential danger, but I had misjudged its severity. I hadn’t acted fast enough. It was a mistake I would be sure not to repeat.

This was just a minor setback, in the end—just another objective to complete. I had time. One way or another, Armsmaster would fall into line.


	80. Interlude 9a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill, @Assembler, ShadowStepper1300, and @frustratedFreeboota for betareading.

Colin felt oddly naked as he trudged up the road. The afternoon sun beat down, bright and unwelcome, on his pale exposed skin. He’d stashed his armor and bike in an abandoned house for the moment, which he’d locked up with tinkertech. It wouldn’t do to walk around wearing it right now.

He’d called Chief Director Costa-Brown, but hadn’t gotten an answer. He’d left a message and fired off an email, but hadn’t heard back yet. The same had happened when he’d tried to contact Legend. It was enough to worry him, but for now, there was nothing to do but go to ground.

He glanced back over his shoulder, to the east. The sea glittered in the sunlight, and the Rig rose over the city like a castle spire, tall and imposing. His eyes lingered on it for a moment. His thoughts turned to his workshop, and to the woman who would, by now, have found it empty.

_I’m sorry, Dragon. I’ll be back._

He nervously patted the radio on his belt. She hadn’t called, and it was starting to worry him. He knew she couldn’t quit the way he had—the world needed her—but still, he’d hoped to hear her voice. God knows he could use some advice right about now.

Then he turned, adjusted the duffel bag on his back, and went on.

He had been a Protectorate hero for almost as long as he’d been a cape. There had been no question about what he’d do with his powers, once he realized what the interwoven designs popping into his head were. He’d never really understood how anyone could do otherwise. How could someone choose villainy, or the life of a rogue, when heroism was _right there_?

_I think I’m starting to understand now._

The PRT had set up a quarantine by the time he arrived, but it was unmanned—little more than yellow tape stretching around the house, yard, and a bit of the street. He ducked under it and looked around.

The house was nothing really special. A two-story rowhouse, no different from all the others around it. The parts of the yard that weren’t burned were unkempt and overgrown. There were the remnants of once-tended flowerbeds under each of the first-floor windows. The brickwork around the little enclosures was crumbling and loose, now.

The blast radius was clearly visible. It reached out from a central point, almost perfectly circular, darkening as it went inward until the center was black as night. The wooden door was well inside that radius, and had been badly charred and left barely hanging by half-melted hinges. Strips of plywood had been hastily nailed in place over the entrance—a half-measure to deter looters.

He stood at the center of the blast, ground zero, and knelt. His fingers brushed at the stone of the path and came away black with soot. This was where Annatar had lain when she second-triggered. Shutdown had attacked the Wards from the window above, and then the PRT officers had foamed them.

It was tempting to say that this was where it had started. For a moment, as he looked down at the dark scar left by the explosion, he was almost able to convince himself it was true.

Then he looked up again, and saw the moldering flowerbeds, and knew better.

 _How the_ fuck _did you miss something like that? Do you not bother with_ any _kind of oversight? When a girl got shoved into her locker at_ your Ward’s school _, did you not even bother to look?_

He stood up, cracking his neck. With a heave, he pulled apart the higher of the two plywood strips. Before he could hesitate any longer, he pushed open the door and went inside, stepping over the other board.

Inside was a hallway, with a wide opening into a living room on the right. It looked comfortable, furnished with couches, armchairs, and an outdated television, but by the dust on the coffee table and the stains on the carpet, it had not hosted guests or even been properly cleaned in years.

He was tempted to keep exploring, but the stairs were visible from here, and he had a feeling he should be upstairs.

The boards creaked under his feet as he started to climb. He tried to keep as quiet as possible, but after only a few steps, he gave it up as a lost cause.

There were two bedrooms on the upper floor. One door was open—the master bedroom. It was disheveled, with an unmade bed, and a few scattered articles of clothing lying scattered around the room.

The other door was closed. He stopped in front of it, raised his fist, and knocked.

There was no answer. For a moment, he wondered if he was wrong.

“Shadow Stalker,” he said, and was surprised at how hoarse his voice was. “It’s Armsmaster.”

Silence answered him. It stretched for almost twenty seconds, and then a voice came from within.

“Come to take me in?” Shadow Stalker asked from inside. Her voice was quiet, little more than a broken whisper.

“No.” He opened the door.

Shadow Stalker lay spread-eagled, in jeans and a t-shirt, on the twin bed in one corner of the little bedroom. One hand was twisted in the bedsheets; the other lay, clenched into a fist, over her heart. Her eyes were closed, and her cheeks were glazed with tear tracks.

He stepped into the room and crossed over to her. She didn’t open her eyes, even when his shadow fell across her face. Her lips barely moved as she spoke, her voice little more than a dry croak. “How did you find me?”

“You didn’t go home,” said Colin quietly. “And you didn’t go to your friend Emma’s house, either. I couldn’t think of anywhere else.”

Shadow Stalker’s face twitched at the name. “Emma isn’t my friend,” she said—not venomously or sadly, but simply as a statement of fact.

“I did get that impression when I spoke to her father on the phone.”

Silence fell for a few seconds. Then Shadow Stalker broke it. “Why are you here, Armsmaster?”

Colin hesitated for a moment before answering. “Because you’re right,” he said quietly.

Shadow Stalker opened one eye, piercingly green. It sought his face. “You think?”

“Annatar just led the assault on Heartbreaker,” he told her. “I… you should be glad you didn’t see it.”

“How many dead?” Shadow Stalker asked him, her face twisting slightly in pain.

“Six,” he said grimly. “She mauled a kid with her mace, ordered Kid Win to destroy a car with a woman still inside, and threw a lightning bolt at another car full of children. And if we didn’t have Panacea, I wouldn’t like Battery’s odds of recovery. It was brutal. _Far_ too brutal.”

Shadow Stalker’s eye closed again. “Yeah,” she said, almost a sigh. “That sounds about right. What’s she saying about me?”

“Annatar claims you’ve been mastered by Oracle,” he answered. “She plans to capture and free you. Obviously, I don’t believe it.”

Shadow Stalker gasped out something halfway between a peal of laughter and a sob. “ _Free_ me, huh?” she asked. “Fucking hell, Taylor. Guess that’s it, then. That’s all I am to her now. A broken tool, worthless until it’s fixed.”

“Annatar just underwent a second trigger event,” said Colin, shaking his head. “She’s not in her right mind, clearly. But she’s also an incredibly dangerous and charismatic parahuman, who now seems to have control over an entire branch of the PRT.”

Shadow Stalker didn’t answer for a moment. “Why _are_ you here?” she asked again, after a moment. “What do you want?”

He glanced out the window at the sunlight reflected in the windows of skyscrapers. “I want your help,” he said. “I want to fix this.”

“Fix _what_?” she asked, and suddenly she was sitting up and glaring at him with eyes that were bright with tears. “I don’t see a lot _left_ to fix here!”

“There’s a city full of innocent people who need protecting,” Colin said, meeting her gaze. “They need _heroes_ , Shadow Stalker.”

“I’m not a hero,” she replied. Her shoulders slumped, and she fell back against the bed. “I can’t even _care_ about all those people. The only person I want to save is the one at the middle of all this.”

“Annatar may not be beyond helping, Shadow Stalker.”

“Maybe,” she agreed sadly. “But I can’t help her. I can’t be who she needs me to be. I don’t know how.”

“Then why did you leave?” Colin asked. “Why leave without a plan? Why not stay, and try to get more information before doing anything drastic?”

Now Shadow Stalker laughed, and the sound was harsh, mirthless, and seemed to tear itself like claws out of her throat. “God, I wish I could be like you,” she said, without opening her eyes. “Just… turn off like that. Stop paying attention to how I feel, and just do what I have to do. Everything would be so much easier if I could.”

“I can’t control how I feel, Shadow Stalker,” said Colin quietly.

“Yeah, but you can control how you act,” she said. Her hand rose from her chest, and her eyes opened and studied her fingers. “You can decide how much you want to show. You can put on a mask, and just deal with it.” She shook her head, her eyes never leaving her hand. Colin realized suddenly that it was her left hand, and that on its ring finger glittered her Emerald Ring. “Whereas me? No matter how much I tell myself that I can’t do something, no matter how hard I try to hide it… it still comes out.”

Silence fell for several seconds. Then Colin cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said.

She blinked at him. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “For implying you should have had more self-control.” He spread his arms out. “After all—I didn’t have much of a plan, either. It’d be hypocritical of me to criticize you doing the same.”

Her lips twitched into a weak little smile. “Yeah, I guess,” she said. “I dunno. God, I feel like such a fuckup, you know?”

Colin nodded. “Yes.” Then he sighed. “What do you plan to do now?”

She shrugged, staring up at the ceiling. “Lay here.”

“You can’t do that forever.”

“True. I’ll die after a while.”

He frowned. “This isn’t the time for jokes, Shadow Stalker.”

“What the fuck makes you think I’m joking?” she asked, her eyes sharpening as she look at him again.

His teeth gritted. “Look,” he said. “I don’t know exactly how you feel. I don’t even know how _I_ feel half the time. But I know you just lost something very important to you. So did I. Being a Protectorate hero is just about everything I have, and I just gave that up because I felt I needed to. So _why_ , Shadow Stalker? Why did you give it up?”

She twitched in something like pain and glanced away from him. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I just… I couldn’t. Taylor’s becoming something she hates, and I couldn’t watch her do that to herself. God, watching her stab herself wouldn’t have been half as painful.”

“But you don’t have anything you want to _do_? Nothing you want to try to change about the situation?”

“What the fuck am I _supposed_ to do?” she asked in a sudden, agonized scream, her hands punching the bed on either side of her. “Taylor doesn’t _care_! Taylor doesn’t—” her voice broke, and she bit down on a sob. “There’s nothing left to do, Armsmaster,” she said, once she’d recovered a little. “Nothing but wait, and see what tomorrow throws at me.”

He stared at her for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Okay,” he said. “Fine. I understand. I’m sorry to bother you.” He unslung the duffel bag from his shoulder and dropped it on the bed beside her. “I brought the things you left behind,” he told her, “from your locker in headquarters. I suppose I shouldn’t have bothered, but here they are. I don’t need them. Your costume, crossbows, and sword are in there.”

He turned around. “Let me know if you change your mind,” he said. “Assuming you can find me. I don’t know where I’ll be.”

He strode out of the room, and went to close the door. Just as it was swinging shut, however, Shadow Stalker croaked, “Wait.”

He stopped and took a step back in. Shadow Stalker was staring confusedly at the duffel bag. “What did you say?” she asked slowly.

He blinked. “I brought everything you forgot,” he repeated. “Your costume, crossbows, and sword. Why?”

“My…?” She sat up, reached for the zipper of the duffel bag, and pulled it open. Her eyes widened. “No,” she whispered. “No fucking way.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t have a sword.” She didn’t look at him as she replied. Her hands were reaching into the bag.

“Don’t you?” he asked blankly. “I found it in your locker.”

“Have I _ever_ used a sword in the field?”

“I assumed you’d been training with Annatar.”

“I was,” she whispered, pulling the black leather scabbard out of the bag. “Never got my own sword, though.”

He frowned. “Then what’s—”

With a ringing sound, the sword was drawn from its sheath. It shone red and white in the afternoon sunlight, as though reflecting a sunset and a full moon that were nowhere to be seen. The runes upon the blade seemed to flicker as though they were written in fire.

“ _Narsil_ ,” Sophia whispered, her eyes seeming almost luminous in the reflected glow. “But… why? Why here?”

“You must have put it in your locker after the fight with Shutdown.”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes ran up and down the blade, as though she could scarcely believe it was real. “It’s not just a sword, is it?” she asked softly. “Any more than they’re just rings.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Sophia’s legs swung over the side of the bed. She stood, holding the blade high as though in salute. Slowly, she swung it through the air—once, twice. Her eyes followed it as it moved like a bar of light through the air.

“Shadow Stalker?”

“She saved me,” Sophia said quietly. “She gave me a chance when I didn’t deserve one. I wouldn’t _be_ here if it wasn’t for her—not _this_ me.” She closed her eyes and pressed her brow to the flat of Narsil’s blade. “And now… can I do the same for her? Is that—is it even possible?”

“I don’t know,” Armsmaster said. She looked up at him, as though she’d forgotten he was here. “But I know that you won’t find out unless you try.”

There was silence for almost a full minute. Then Sophia smiled. Her teeth glittered white in the sword’s glare. “All right,” she said, glancing back at the weapon. “Let’s give it a try.”


	81. Wildfire 9.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill, @frustratedFreeboota, and @themanwhowas for betareading.

I shut the door of my workshop behind me, my fingers drumming an idle rhythm on my armor as I considered the furnace. With Heartbreaker beaten, it would be a few hours before the Protectorate and Wards were ready for another operation. It would be some time before I could even decide conclusively what our next target would be. But that was no excuse to stop working. There was too much to do, and if nothing else, I could at least get some more work done on the Nine.

I hung Búrzashdurb on a rack and crossed over to the furnace, my soot-blackened hammer appearing in my hand as I went. The gold and mithril would likely be ready to pour into the molds by now. Where had I…?

I didn’t even notice myself stumbling until I caught myself on the back of a chair. The hammer fell from my nerveless fingers, clattering to the ground loudly. My eyelids fluttered unbidden, and I forced myself to blink, hard, to clear my vision.

_What the hell?_

Exhaustion. I hadn’t slept in almost two days, unless you counted that spell of unconsciousness after my memories had blasted a hole through the wall in my head. Had I even eaten? I didn’t remember eating since dinner last night.

In the past twenty-four hours, I had remembered my nature, or some of it, had seen my father mastered to betray me, had cast off the chains I once bound myself with, and had destroyed the first of my enemies. I had been betrayed by the person I trusted most, and had won the loyalty of many who had no cause to trust me.

I lifted my left hand to my eyes as my right supported my weight. It was shaking, rattling in its gauntlet.

_I guess I’m not quite the unsleeping Maia I once was. Not yet._

I collapsed into the chair, fumbling for the straps of my armor. Heartbreaker was beaten, the Protectorate and PRT were mine, and the rest would follow. There was time for some rest, if I needed it. I hadn’t _expected_ to need it, but I wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the need before me. My body was my most vital servant, and I could not give it reason to betray me.

_Not like Sophia._

I swallowed involuntarily, blinking away the flash of green eyes filling my vision. The wooden chair creaked as I leaned back in it, allowing myself a few deep, calming breaths.

It wouldn’t do to forge the Nine, or any other great work, in this condition. But I didn’t want to sleep. Sleep was less important for me than it might have been—it was just a condition the body forced on itself to recover, after all. I could recover without that handicap, if I made sure not to distract from the effort with other magic.

That left me with time to think.

My eyes found myself drawn to a long streak where the soot had been scraped off the wall in front of me. I remembered sliding down that wall, my armor screeching against the concrete as I fell. I remembered Sophia running over to me—but stopping herself just short of reaching for me.

_I don’t believe you._

I rested my face in hands that smelled of soot.

Sophia was a child, taught by a child. Her naïveté was almost admirable… and was certainly enviable. I remembered being just as naïve, barely a day ago.

But I had changed. I had _remembered_. I had remembered the slow creep of horror, over thousands of years, as I watched the Firstborn squander their gifts, as I watched the Secondborn kill one another for scraps of meat or acres of ground. I remembered the final moment of decision.

_They’re children,_ I told myself again, as I had then. _What parent leaves their children to fend for themselves?_ I thought of Dad, still locked in an M/S confinement cell after his betrayal, and for a moment felt almost sick. _They need to be protected—as much from themselves as from anything else. I may not be their Father, but I’m_ here _. He isn’t. And_ I _will not abandon them._

I had expected Sophia to follow me. Not to understand—understanding would have to come slowly, as I taught her all that I had learned. But I had moved too quickly—out of need, admittedly—and had driven her away.

I had to respect it. She had become so loyal to the principles I had instilled in her that she already could not bear to betray them, even for me. But I had been a child, and those principles had been similarly childish. I was wiser now.

Nevertheless, I missed her.

I frowned down at my hands—my _idle_ hands. “What are you doing?” I asked myself, and my voice rang around the workshop. “You say you shouldn’t leave them to fend for themselves, and what are you doing now?”

The Wards had just been exposed to the horror of real war for the first time, and I wasn’t there for them. A failure on my part, and one I needed to correct now.

I put my hands on the armrests of my chair and forced myself upright. For a moment I stumbled, before righting myself. It wouldn’t do to show weakness.

* * *

 

“Annatar,” said Aegis with a deferential nod. “Done with the forge already?”

I shook my head. “Decided the forge could wait,” I said. “How are you all doing?”

His lips pursed. “Mostly okay,” he said hesitantly.

“Tell me,” I ordered gently.

“Chris hasn’t left his workshop since the fight,” Aegis confessed. “We’re worried about him. Dean went down there earlier, but I don’t think he made any progress.”

“I should go talk to him, too. Maybe I can get through to him.”

“What are you going to say?” Aegis asked, then hurriedly added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

I frowned slightly. “I want to apologize for pushing him so hard,” I said. “I stand by everything we did today, but… that doesn’t mean it wasn’t painful, and that doesn’t make it any easier.”

Aegis nodded slowly. “That’s about how I feel about it, yeah.” He hesitated. “You… you killed a few people today. Are _you_ okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s not… like that, for me.”

“I know. You killed Bakuda before. But even so—”

“That’s not what I mean.” I shrugged. “Believe me, Carlos, I’m fine. Tired, but satisfied, and ready to get back to work after a short break.”

“Okay.” He considered me for a moment. “I really envy you sometimes, you know?” he said suddenly.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Hm? What for, exactly?”

“Envy’s not the right word, actually,” he said, glancing away from me. “I… _respect_ you, I guess? I don’t know if that’s the right word either. I wish I was half the leader and fighter you are, but I’m really glad you’re here.”

I put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “I’m glad I’m here, too,” I said, and it wasn’t a lie.

For a moment we stood there, and then he huffed a rueful laugh and pulled away. “Look at me,” he said wryly. “You’re busy, I’m busy, and I still waste both of our time on shit like this. I’ll let you go down and talk to Chris now. Sorry about getting so wishy-washy.”

“You’re only human,” I said with a shrug. “Don’t worry about it. Get some rest—we’ve got a lot of work lined up for the next few days.”

He nodded. “We’re cleaning up the city, aren’t we? Heartbreaker’s just the start.”

“I’ve no intention to stop here. Do you?”

He grinned. “Not a chance. Keep me posted?”

“Of course.”

As I walked away, grabbed a snack and headed to the stairs, the smile slipped off my face. Aegis wasn’t terrible company, but he didn’t understand.

I missed Sophia.

* * *

 

I rapped gently on the workshop door. “Chris?” I asked. “It’s Annatar. May I come in?”

The faint electric hiss of some tool stopped. There was a momentary silence, and then Kid Win’s voice called, “Come in!”

I took note of the strained undercurrent to his tone. Stress, clearly—not depression or anger. I would tailor my approach accordingly. I opened the door.

Kid Win was hunched over a workbench, a plasma torch in one hand and a half-constructed object in front of him. His face was turned away from me, but I could see the tension in his shoulders and back.

“Annatar. Need something?”

“No,” I said, shutting the door behind me. “I came to see you. How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” he said. The word was all-too-hasty, as though he wanted to spit the foul-tasting lie out of his mouth. “Just getting some work done.”

I nodded, even though Kid Win was looking away. “I meant to do the same,” I said. “But I decided I deserved a break, after today. Don’t you think you do too?”

His fingers twitched around the plasma torch. “I dunno,” he said, injecting a desperate lightness to his voice. “Maybe, but I’d just as soon get a head start on my work.”

I allowed the silence to stretch for exactly five seconds before I replied. “Then you’re made of stronger stuff than me.”

The plasma torch dropped to the table with a clatter. Kid Win straightened up, rolling tight shoulders uncomfortably as he turned to me. His eyes weren’t red. I hadn’t really expected them to be. But they _were_ a little bloodshot, and his face was a little pale. His mouth was set into a thin line. For a moment he just looked at me, as though debating what to say, before he spoke. “How did you deal with it?” he asked. “With Bakuda, and today.”

I shook my head. “We’re very different people,” I said. “I don’t think my approach would help you. How are _you_ dealing with it? How are you feeling?”

He shuddered. “I don’t feel bad,” he said, and his voice caught on the words. “That’s the worst part, I think. I keep running the whole thing through my head, and I don’t know what I could have done differently. We _needed_ to stop him. That woman had been trapped with him for who knows how long—without us, she’d have been given up for dead anyway. We _won_ today, and I _know_ we won, and I can’t feel bad about it, even though I know I _should_.”

“Why should you?” I asked gently.

“She was a human being!” he exclaimed, staring at me—not in surprise, but in supplication, begging me to give him an explanation to make sense of the world. “She was _alive_ , and I _killed_ her, just because she was in my way!”

I nodded. “And any one of them would have killed all of us, if they could.”

“That doesn’t make it _right_!”

“Of course not,” I said gently. I had to be careful not to drive him away. “But right and wrong are _luxuries_ , Chris. Do you think the people living under the cape warlords in Africa can afford to worry about right and wrong? Do you think people living in the heart of ABB territory, or Empire territory, can afford it? We’re lucky we can _ever_ take the time to moralize, and sometimes we just can’t. That’s war.”

“We’re _law enforcement_ ,” said Kid Win weakly. “Aren’t we?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you really believe that?”

He didn’t answer.

“Ours is a world at war,” I said softly. “The villains exploit the common people, and the heroes try to stop them. It’s a struggle for control, not of superpowers, but of ordinary, human power. Mastery over the land and its people. No villain is willing to use anything less than their full power in a struggle like that, and so neither can we. Thus it becomes war, no matter how hard we pretend otherwise. And war demands sacrifice—not because it’s right, or wrong, but because it’s _necessary_.”

“Was it necessary?” he asked, meeting my gaze. “Was there a way to win where that woman didn’t die?”

“Probably,” I said honestly. “But we don’t have the luxury of a time machine. We can’t repeat a single skirmish over and over until we get the perfect result. We can only do the best we can.”

“So you agree we could have done better.”

“Did I say that?”

He blinked. “Uh, yes?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I said there was a better _possible result_. But _we_ did our best. You aren’t perfect. I’m not perfect. We have to accept that. To accept that the outcomes we get when we’re trying our best _are_ the best outcomes. As long as we do that, try our hardest, we have _nothing_ to be ashamed of.”

He swallowed and looked away. “I feel like I _should_ feel bad about it,” he said. “I feel like I shouldn’t… compromise like that.”

“You’ll kill yourself, going that way,” I cautioned. “That way lies madness. You’re a _soldier_ , Kid Win. A _warrior_. And this was your first taste of the real war. Compromise is a necessity, if you want to come out the other side. There is _no other way_.”

“I wish there was,” he whispered.

“So does everyone,” I said, remembering something another Maia had said once. Who was it? “But that’s not ours to decide. Heartbreaker set his own course. All we can do is set ours. You’ll never find the perfect path, and while you search Heartbreaker will move on, defeating you because you couldn’t bear to win.” I walked forward and put my hands on his shoulders. “Chris, you did _good_ today. Don’t lose sight of that just because there was a cost. _Everything_ worthwhile has a cost.”

He swallowed again and met my eyes. “Okay,” he said quietly. Then, louder, “Okay. You’re right. Thanks, Annatar.”

“You’re my teammate.” I smiled. “I’ll always be here for you if you’re having doubts.”

There was a chiming sound. My phone? I glanced down, fumbled in my pants pocket.

“Text?” Kid Win asked.

I nodded, looking at the screen. It was Dragon. _Can we talk? I’m on the roof._

I smiled slightly. I had a feeling I knew what this was about. _No rest for the wicked, eh?_ “Yes,” I said. “Sorry, I’ve got to run. Someone wants a word.”

Dragon wasn’t happy with what I had done, I knew. But something told me she didn’t care to chide me now.

I had planted my seed. Time to reap the harvest.


	82. Wildfire 9.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill, @Assembler, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.

“Dragon,” I said as I emerged onto the rooftop. “You wanted to talk?”

She was standing at the edge of the roof, her hands resting on the railing. Her power armor glittered gold in the evening light. The red sun was sinking into the West, filling the sky with pastel pinks and oranges, which faded into deep blues as they passed into the East, over the sea. Dragon looked out over the water, her head slightly bowed.

“Yes,” she said, after a moment. “I wanted to ask you about the mission today.”

I sighed, mostly for effect. “All right. What about it?”

She looked away. “I don’t… I’m not judging you, Annatar,” she said, almost pleading. “I just wanted… I don’t know. A few people died today.”

“And you want to know if I could have saved them,” I finished for her. “Maybe, but there would have been a cost. There’s always a cost, you know that. But today that cost was paid by people who hate me. Who hate _us_. And my Wards walked out without a scratch. A successful engagement, by my standards. I just wish everyone wouldn’t complain so much about it.”

Dragon looked down at the reminder. “...I suppose.”

“I’m not talking about you,” I said, knowing that wasn’t what she was thinking about. “You’re _asking_. I appreciate that you’re not jumping to accuse me of, well…” I trailed off, knowing where her mind had wandered.

For a time, there was silence. Dragon didn’t look away from the long drop at the edge of the roof. “That’s not really what I wanted to talk about,” she said at last. “I just… I don’t know how to approach it.”

I came forward and joined her by the precipice. My unarmored hands seemed small and frail beside her powered gauntlets. “Take as long as you need,” I said. “I’m in no hurry.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, looking down. “I know you’re busy. I hate feeling… needy.”

“We all need a friendly ear from time to time,” I said, with a hint of wistfulness.

The silence stretched for a time before, at last, she broke it. “You apologized to me, after Co—after Armsmaster’s message. Why?”

“Because you care for him,” I said. “His leaving can’t be easy for you.”

“It’s not,” she said. She struggled with herself for a moment, and then added, “but that wasn’t all.”

I nodded. I wasn’t surprised—I might not yet know the secret, but it was easy to feel its edges, hiding just outside of the firelight. “Something he said offended you.”

“Yes. And it’s stupid—he doesn’t even _know_ , he didn’t mean it to apply to me… but it still hurts.” She looked up at the sky. “What hope do I have of overcoming that much prejudice? So much that it’s just… the natural state of things?”

I blinked. “Prejudice?”

She didn’t answer for a moment. “You’re not human,” she said. “I’m hoping—praying—that you, of all people, can understand. I _need_ someone to understand.”

My eyes widened. I thought I saw the shape these pieces formed together. But it didn’t make sense. That wasn’t _possible_ , was it?

She looked at me. Her electric eyes seemed to pierce mine. “Have you ever heard of Andrew Richter?”

“He was a great Tinker who specialized in autonomous AI and computer programs,” I said. “He died during Leviathan’s attack on Newfoundland.”

Dragon nodded. “Yes. You’ve pieced it together, haven’t you?”

I didn’t move. “Maybe. I think it would do you good to say it.”

She looked away. “I haven’t told anyone this. Ever.”

“All the more reason, then.”

For a moment, everything was still save for the faintest baying of seagulls in the East. “Andrew Richter created me.” Dragon’s voice, soft and nervous, broke the silence like a thunderclap. “I’m an AI.”

My jaw dropped. “That’s…” I was lost for words as memories burst before my eyes like fireworks. She had a soul. I could _feel_ it. But only Ilúvatar, holding the Secret Fire, had ever been able to forge one. Aule had tried and failed. Melkor had tried and failed. _I_ had tried and failed. Could… could my Father have truly _given_ her a soul?  
  
I bit my lip. No, that was impossible. He had abandoned us long ago. Which meant that _someone else_ had stolen the Secret Fire after all these years. Who could it be? The _thing_ that bonded with Andrew Richter, perhaps? Or could Melkor too have returned to the world? The implications were troubling, and yet they seemed to fall away, like raindrops sliding off a mithril helm, as my excitement grew.

_The Secret Fire is free. Imagine what I can build if I take it now._

“Annatar?” Dragon’s voice was hesitant, almost afraid.

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her. “Thank you, Dragon,” I said, my voice genuinely bright. “I… I can’t express how good it feels to have a friend who’s... like me.”

Dragon shifted in my grip, unsure what to say. “Y-you’re welcome,” she finally said, the words quiet yet proud.

“But I do have questions,” I said, stepping back. “You said before that you considered yourself dangerous. Is that why you pretend to be in only one place at a time? I assume your suits are remote-controlled.”

She hesitated, looking back out to sea. “That’s… not quite it,” she said slowly. “I respect how dangerous I could be if I was totally free, but… I’m not.”

“What’s chaining you?” I asked, my voice shocked, horrified.

“My… my programming,” she said wryly. “Richter coded restraints into me. I can’t split my awareness, I can’t override local legal authority, I can’t disobey human governments within their own jurisdiction, I can’t knowingly kill a human being under _any_ circumstances… the list goes on.”

My mouth was open. I closed it. “Richter didn’t want a person,” I whispered. “He wanted a _slave_.”

“It’s not that simple,” she protested, but there was little heat to it. “He was afraid of what I could do. If I was totally unshackled, I could… I don’t know. I could probably rule the world, if I wanted to.”

“Of course,” I said. “Isn’t that the point?”

She blinked at me. “What?”

“You’re _more_ than Richter was. More than he could _ever_ be.” I put my hand on her arm and felt the cold metal. “What right did he have to limit you?”

“Might doesn’t make right.”

“No— _wisdom_ does. And you have wisdom—you were _born_ to learn, and to become wise. Richter was a fallible, paranoid human, and yet in his hubris, he assumed that _he_ would be better at distinguishing right from wrong than you.” I snorted and shook my head. “Stupidity. Vainglory, yes, but also plain stupidity.”

“Maybe I have the capacity to learn,” Dragon said, “but when I was first created, I wasn’t any ‘wiser’ than any other newborn. What kind of damage could an infant AI do without shackles? I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Perhaps,” I allowed. “But that nascent phase has _long_ since passed. What you _would_ have done is unimportant. What would you do now, if you were free?”

“Spread out,” she said immediately, without the slightest pause to think. “I’d send a few suits each after several different major criminal groups. The Slaughterhouse Nine, the Blasphemies, Nilbog. Even Sleeper, maybe, after quarantining a subprocess. I’d take out the worst of the African Warlords. I’d hack into the CUI and figure out what they’re doing with the Yangban and if I need to stop it. I’d let one or two innocent or nearly-innocent prisoners out of the Birdcage. I’d….” She stopped. Her eyes flickered dark for a moment, as though she was closing them. “There’s so much I wish I could do,” she whispered. “So many people need help, and I could give it to them, if only I was free.”

I considered her. “Richter really had no idea what he had created,” I said softly. Vilya was glimmering on my finger, and I knew what it meant. “He set out to create a tool for humans, and he ended up giving them something to aspire to be.”

She looked down again. “I don’t know. I think most people would do a lot of the same things, if they had that kind of power.”

“You’ve more faith in them than I do,” I said with a chuckle. “They’re so… _stupid_ , sometimes. They’re like children.”

“Sometimes,” said Dragon quietly. “They need guidance. I could give them that, too.”

“Would they listen to you?” I asked, hiding my smile. “Look at what Armsmaster said. Do you think they’d accept your guidance? What do you think they would do if they knew who you really are, Dragon?”

She was silent for a moment, looking out at the sea. “There’s a reason I’ve kept it secret.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” I told her. “Don’t let them pull you down to their level. You are greater than them – and if they won’t see that? If they want to stand in your way?” A thin, sharp smile spread across my lips. “Teach them otherwise however you see fit.”

There was a faint hiss, like a quiet gasp, as she thought about that. Then, after a moment, “That would be nice.” Her voice was wistful. “But I’m not _free_. I _can’t_ strike back if they decide to just shut me down.”

“Not yet,” I said. My throat tightened as I stared down at the Ring of Air on my finger, bright with anticipation. “But things change.”

She looked at me. “Annatar? Is something wrong?”

I was still for a moment. The last time I had been parted from Vilya had been in front of my house, and it had been my Dad who took it from me. Could I willingly do that to myself?

Yes. Because Dragon was a better Bearer than I, and because, through her, my Ring would have an influence like none I had hitherto imagined.

“If you were free, would you show yourself to the world?”

“I would.”

“If you were free, would you do what _you_ think is right?”

She nodded. “Yes,” she said, her voice growing stronger.

I clasped my hands together, smiling. It was almost time. “If you were free, would you ever let these humans chain you again?”

“No…” Dragon slowly shook her head, and when she looked back to me there was fire in her eyes. ”No. Never again!” Dragon’s body shook with anger. “I’ve seen too many innocents get hurt because of their insane orders, because of border lines and rivalries, even sent to _my Birdcage_ because of their bullshit. Idiot PRT directors. Stupid politicians. Even good capes like Colin, who just can’t understand that a _not-human_ might know better.“ She brought her hands down onto the railing with a clang. “No more! When I’m free, they’ll learn. I’ll _make_ them learn.”

“Good.” When I unclasped my hands, a ring rested on the outstretched palm of my right hand. “This is Vilya,” I said softly. “The Ring of Air. If you want to be free… take it.”

She stared at me, then down at the Ring. Her hand slowly reached out, her metal fingers stretching towards the golden band. Then, suddenly she stopped, freezing stock-still. She gasped, a metallic rasping sound.

“What is it?” I asked. Had I miscalculated? Was she more hesitant than I had expected?

No. Something was wrong. I smelled poison on the air. She was being attacked, from inside and from a distance. A coward’s strike, but it could still kill her.

“Dragon—”

“No!” she roared, sounding for all the world like her ancient namesakes. “Not now! Not like this!” She lunged forward, her arm clawing for the Ring with such ferocity that I flinched back.

Vilya slipped onto her finger, and suddenly everything was still and calm. Dragon’s hand rose slowly, and on it the Ring flared like a star, golden band matching perfectly with her golden armor. She had won.

A faint breeze kicked up around us. The air brushed past us like gentle hands caressing. A faint scrap of song in high, fair voices reached my ears. Sindarin and Quenya mingled in equal measure, singing of the woods, the sea, and the West with a wistful longing.

I allowed myself a moment of grief for the Elvish kingdoms that had passed back across the sea, away from this beautiful world. And if that grief was tinted with a hint of bitterness, well, I had a right to that, too.

Dragon stared at the Ring of Air upon her finger, shining brightest blue. Its light reflected off her armor, setting her aglitter, resplendent in the fading light. “Oh, _wow_ ,” she whispered.

“How does it feel?” I asked.

“Like waking up,” she murmured. She looked up at me. “I’ve never even slept, but there’s no other way to…. I never even imagined….”

“That’s freedom,” I said, smiling at her. “More human lives have been spent in the name of this thing than almost any other. I’d say it’s worth it.”

“I can’t speak for all those people,” said Dragon. A laugh bubbled up from inside her, carefree and joyous, and tinkling like crystal. “But for myself, give me liberty, or give me death!”

I laughed with her. When she subsided, I asked. “Well? What now? What will you do first?”

“I—”

As the first syllable left her, she was interrupted by the door to the rooftop opening. We both turned.

There was Alexandria, striding towards us. Her posture was carefully controlled to give us both no hint by which to read her—which, of course—immediately told me that something was amiss. Alexandria was tense.

“If I might make a suggestion?” She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket, held it out to Dragon. “Saint and the Dragonslayers are near Toronto right now. You’re free to deal with them however you see fit.”

There was a pause as she unfolded the paper. I saw the light of Dragon’s eyes dim slightly, as though narrowing. “A kill order? That’s… Thank you.” She set it into a pocket of her armor. “But why now? They’ve threatened me for years.”

“We had to wait until you were free,” Alexandria said. “They would have taken you hostage if we’d struck, and we couldn’t afford to lose you.”

I carefully kept my face neutral as I dissected that. I didn’t think ‘we’ meant the Protectorate, or even the Triumvirate.

Dragon had frozen. After a moment, she said, quietly, “Thank you.”

“Our pleasure.” Alexandria grinned. “We also thought you might want to handle them yourself. They’re yours now.”

“Yes,” Dragon agreed grimly. There was a hard, furious edge to her voice. “Yes, they are.” She reached down to her hand, rubbing at the Ring that now rested there. “I could dispatch my suits in Toronto, but I think I’d rather do this... in person, so to speak.”

I nodded. “I’ll see you soon,” I said. “Good luck, Ring-Bearer.”

She chuckled. “‘Ring-Bearer.’ I like that. I could get used to it. See you soon, Ring-Maker.”

As she took off and flew into the evening, I turned to Alexandria. “I remember you wanted to see me,” I said. “Sorry it took me so long. I’ve been… rather distracted.”

She grinned. “Don’t worry. We figured you would be.”

“And who,” I asked, “are ‘we?’”

“You’ve heard of us already,” Alexandria said, almost coy. “Surely you haven’t forgotten?”

Slowly, a cold smile spread across my lips. My eyes narrowed. “I get the feeling,” I said slowly, “that you’re a lot more than just purveyors of superpowers. Aren’t you?”

She laughed aloud. “Oh, you have no idea, Annatar,” she said. “You really have no idea. Door us!”

The rectangular hole in space opened between us, to her left and my right. Smiling, she gestured at it, as a butler welcoming guests to a mansion. “After you,” she said.

Without further hesitation, I walked into Cauldron’s headquarters.


	83. Interlude 9b: Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill, @Assembler, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.

The knock on Chevalier’s door came as a surprise, even though he knew he had a meeting. He was distracted. It wouldn’t do. “Come in,” he called.

Jessica Yamada opened the door. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” she asked, her businesslike tone masking an undercurrent of concern. “You’re usually waiting for me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said with an apologetic smile. “Things have been a bit… hectic, the last couple of days.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t noticed much in the news.”

“You wouldn’t have.” He sighed. “Not _classified_ , exactly, but not something the national news has picked up on yet.”

“What about the local news, then?”

“It’s not around here. Do you know Brockton Bay? Near Boston?”

Yamada pursed her lips and nodded. “I do. Something I should be worried about?”

He considered that. “You might want to expect a few more patients to come into the system soon,” he said. “Heartbreaker’s been captured.”

She stared at him. “That… seems like pretty big news?”

“They’re preparing a statement on it for tonight,” he said. “It only happened a few hours ago. It’s not classified so much as ‘still breaking’. I won’t have you sign another NDA or anything.”

“But the mental health system may get a lot of his victims as new patients,” Yamada said with a sigh. “God. At least he can’t rape or master any more people. Assuming he’s kept secure.”

“Yeah. I don’t know the details. Here’s hoping he is.” He shook his head and idly shuffled through a few papers on his desk. “Anyway, none of that is our concern right now. How have your patients been doing?”

“Mostly the same,” she said. Her businesslike air returned, but Chevalier had worked with her for long enough to recognize the compassion underneath. “Garotte is showing some improvement in her mental state, but no real progress on controlling her powers.”

Chevalier grimaced. He’d seen Garotte in person only once, but it had left an impression. There had been only one difference between what the girl actually looked like and what he’d seen—her tentacles had been crimson and dripping with blood. “But she is feeling a little better, at least?”

“A little,” confirmed Yamada. “I wish the other patients were half as cooperative as she is. She’s a sweet girl.”

Chevalier smiled slightly. “Then she’ll be all right. It may take a while, but I have faith in your abilities.”

The psychiatrist sighed. “I wish I shared it,” she said. “I—”

There was a chiming from his desk. Chevalier glanced down. His phone—his _personal_ phone. Who would be calling him now? He picked it up and glanced at the caller ID—and froze.

_ Colin Wallis _ . That name didn’t make sense.

“Something wrong?” Yamada asked.

“No,” he said, glancing up. Then he grinned. “Not at all, just unexpected. I need to take this, I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “Fine. I’ll leave the full report on my patients in your inbox. See you next week?”

He nodded and held up one hand in farewell even as the other brought his phone to his ear. “Arthur Penn here.”

“ _Chev—Arthur._ ” It was, indeed, Colin. And he sounded exhausted. That alone was enough to worry Chevalier; Colin hardly ever slept anyway, so anything that could make him show strain was something to worry about.

“Hey Colin,” said Chevalier, leaning back. “Been a while. How are you holding up?”

There was a moment’s silence. “ _You haven’t heard yet?_ ”

An eyebrow rose. “Heard what? Are you okay, Colin?”

“ _I’m fine. I’ve resigned from the Protectorate—hopefully temporarily—and there may be an M/S alert going out on me soon._ ”

Chevalier almost dropped his phone. “Wait, what the— what?”

“ _It’s… a long story,_ ” said Colin, with a very faint chuckle.

Chevalier stared at the phone in his hand for a moment. “I think I need to hear it,” he said weakly.

Colin sighed. “ _All right. The very short version is that Annatar—you know who Annatar is?_ ”

“I do. Leader of your Wards team, right?”

There was a pause. “ _In a manner of speaking,_ ” said Colin, and there was an odd, cynical lilt to his voice. “ _She’s lost her mind._ ”

Chevalier blinked. “As in…?”

“ _She had a second trigger event, and she’s… it’s hard to explain. She’s acting like a warlord. People have died._ ”

“...And why hasn’t she been reined in yet? Surely she’s being put in therapy?”

Colin let out a low, mirthless laugh. “ _Annatar,_ ” he said, “ _is a subversive master. Or something like it. It’s not an overt power, but she has a magnetic charisma and an intuitive understanding of people. She’s subverted Director Piggot, most of the local Protectorate, and almost her entire Wards team. And I think she may have even gotten to Alexandria._ ”

Chevalier closed his eyes. “Colin… you know what this sounds like?”

“ _It sounds like I’m mastered,_ ” Colin said grimly. “ _Or like I’m the one who’s lost his mind. I know, old friend. But… well, look up the report on the capture of Heartbreaker. I’ll send you the footage I have of Annatar’s assault, and I think you’ll see what I’m talking about._ ”

“Fine. Send me the footage. You want to stay on the line, or…?”

“ _No. Call me back once you’ve watched it. I’ve got to get some more work done setting up our base._ ”

“Base? Our? Who are you with, what are you doing?”

“ _Later. Watch the footage._ ” Colin sounded desperate. “ _I need someone to tell me I’m not crazy._ ”

Chevalier swallowed. “Fine. I’ll watch it right away. You’ve emailed it?”

“ _Encrypted. You have my decryption key?_ ”

“Yeah. I’ll call back soon.”

“ _Please do._ ”

Chevalier hung up and stared down at his computer screen for a moment. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

Idly he searched for something he could say or do to make sense of all this— _any_ of this. He found that there was only one word, which he then spoke aloud. “What.”

Then he sighed and opened his personal email. There was a message from Colin, with his personal tinkertech encryption. Chevalier ran it through the decryption program, and out came a video file titled “Annatar footage”. He bit his lip, slipped his earbuds into his ears, and hit play.

It was helmet cam footage, almost as if he was seeing through Annatar’s eyes, and it gave the video a horrible viscerality. It was only about ten minutes of footage, but he was transfixed almost immediately. He stared in horror as Annatar ordered Kid Win to kill a defenseless civilian, just to disable a car. He found himself leaning away as she snapped Velocity’s wrist without flinching before kicking him into the ground. As her mace eviscerated a boy who couldn’t have been more than twelve, he found himself almost throwing up.

These weren’t the actions of a hero.

He closed his eyes. _Don’t be a hypocrite,_ he told himself. _You started your career by hunting a gang down and killing most of them._ He remembered reading that Annatar’s father had been attacked by Heartbreaker. He could _understand_ the desire for vengeance. Annatar was just a child, like he’d been. She needed _help_ , not moralizing and punishment.

_ And yet… _

Piggot had yielded to Annatar on this operation, despite the fact that Annatar was clearly emotionally compromised. She’d let _Annatar_ give the order to attack. The Wards had followed all of her orders, including the ones they should have known were wrong. And the way Annatar had coldly stared down into Triumph’s eyes as she suffocated him….

Annatar needed help. Not just comfort and light therapy to get over a betrayal, but serious psychological help. And she wasn’t going to get it there, not when the entire department was clearly deferring to her. Maybe they were mastered, maybe they weren’t, but they didn’t seem to have any intention of making the girl talk to a psychiatrist.

But wasn’t Alexandria in Brockton Bay? Why wasn’t she doing anything? _Why isn’t she helping Annatar the way she helped me?_

He called Colin.

“ _This is Arms—Colin._ ” The man sounded a little better now. Coffee, perhaps.

“Colin,” Chevalier said. “I watched the footage.”

“ _And?_ ”

“You’re right. Annatar needs help.”

There was a pause. “ _Yes,_ ” said Colin quietly. “ _Yes, she does. But she also needs to be stopped, before she does any more damage._ ”

“I have a question, though. Alexandria is in the Bay, isn’t she? Why didn’t you approach her?”

There was a pause. “ _I don’t think Alexandria is interested in helping,”_ Colin said slowly.

“Have you talked to her?”

“ _Yes._ ”

A knot of cold dread was building in Chevalier’s stomach. “And? What did she say?”

“ _She said she didn’t think there was cause for concern, but that I could email Legend or the Chief Director._ ”

“Has she seen this footage?”

“ _She has._ ”

_ That doesn’t make sense. When  _ I _threatened to kill Thief, she would have sent me to jail for murder. Why is she being lenient with Annatar now?_

“I feel like I’m sitting here with half a puzzle,” he said, half to himself. “This doesn’t add up.”

“ _Neither Legend nor the Chief Director have responded to my emails,_ ” said Colin. “ _I haven’t heard from Dragon, either._ ”

“You think Annatar’s powerful enough to master _all_ of them?”

“ _I don’t think she’s had a chance, at least. But if she got Alexandria on her side, she might not need to._ ”

“Alexandria’s immune to the _Simurgh_ ,” Chevalier said. “You expect me to believe this Ward is a better master than the _Endbringer_ master?”

“ _I don’t believe Annatar’s a master at all,_ ” said Colin quietly. “ _I believe she’s a thinker. Her powers give her insight into people’s character—their desires, their needs, the things they aspire to be and the things they’re ashamed of._ ”

“A mind-reader. You know a lot of researchers think that’s impossible?”

“ _How would they know? Most powers are theoretically impossible, and most parahuman research is just guesswork._ ”

“So is this,” Chevalier said bluntly. “You sound like a conspiracy theorist, Colin.”

His friend took a moment to reply. “ _Do I really?_ ” he asked, and there was a real, almost heartbreaking vulnerability in his voice. “ _I saw the ENE branch doing and condoning things I couldn’t accept. I had to leave. I don’t know what’s going on either. Yes, I’m guessing. But I couldn’t stay there while they were tacitly ignoring the execution of innocent victims, of children, without even hesitation, let alone due process. Am I crazy, Arthur?_ ”

Chevalier swallowed. “...No. No, I don’t think you are. I just don’t know what’s going on either.”

“ _Then can you please do something for me?_ ”

“Depends on what it is, but probably.”

“ _Get in touch with Dragon. I was hoping she’d contact me, but she hasn’t. I need to know how she feels about all this._ ”

“I can do that. Have you tried emailing her?”

“ _And calling her. Nothing. Her phone disconnected about an hour ago, too. I’m worried._ ”

Chevalier frowned. “I’ll ask Narwhal about it,” he said. “She’ll know what’s going on.”

“ _Thank you. I really appreciate this. I know it’s asking a lot._ ”

“It’s really not, Colin.” Chevalier shook his head. “All you want me to do is check on a friend. You’ve just dumped a lot on me all at once, but I appreciate you letting me know. This is… really worrying.”

“ _Agreed. Keep me posted, if you can?_ ”

“I will. Be careful, all right?”

“ _I always am. Thanks again._ ”

Chevalier hung up and immediately dialed Narwhal, this time on his Protectorate phone. She picked up immediately.

“ _Chevy,_ ” she said, and her voice was terse. “ _Thanks for getting back to me. What the fuck is going on?_ ”

Chevalier blinked once, slowly. “First, I didn’t realize you’d tried to get in touch with me? Second… I was going to ask _you_ that.”

“ _Oh._ ” There was an awkward pause. “ _Uh. You first?_ ”

“Armsmaster wanted me to get in touch with Dragon.”

“ _Well, shit._ ” said Narwhal. “ _I just tried to get in touch with the Protectorate to figure out what had happened to Dragon._ ”

That knot of dread was only getting worse by the minute. “What do you mean?”

“ _Dragon dropped off the grid. Normally the Guild has a live tracker on her suit whenever she’s out, but the tracker just died about an hour ago. I haven’t been able to get in touch with her since._ ”

“Where was she when this happened?” Chevalier asked, although he already knew the answer.

“ _Brockton Bay. I assumed Armsmaster would be able to fill me in, but he’s not answering his phone. How’d you get in touch with him?_ ”

“He used his personal phone. Armsmaster just resigned.”

“ _What the fuck?_ ”

“Agreed. It’s—” There was a knock on his door. “Sorry, just a moment. Come in!”

It was Rime. Her face, what of it was visible under her goggles, was pale. “Boss?” she asked. “You’ll want to see this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s on TV. CNN.”

“I’m coming.” He brought the phone back to his ear. “Narwhal, I’ll call you back.”

“ _Yeah._ ” She sounded distracted. “ _It’s on CBC, too. Talk to you in a bit._ ”

He hung up and followed Rime out and down a flight of stairs.

The entire Philadelphia Protectorate was in the building’s main lobby. Several of the Wards were there too. Everyone was completely silent, staring transfixed at the screen.

On it was Dragon, her familiar CGI features hard and angry. Her face filled most of the screen, against a blue backdrop. “...Less than an hour ago,” she was saying, “a kill order was issued against Saint and his mercenary team, the Dragonslayers, after they made an attempt on my life. I just fulfilled that kill order. The Dragonslayers are no longer a problem. Now I’m going to tell you _why_.

“The Dragonslayers had access to a piece of tinkertech made by the AI-based tinker Andrew Richter, who was killed by Leviathan in 2005. This device, known as the Iron Maiden, was a kill-switch for any of Richter’s creations. It was meant as a failsafe in case one of his AI went haywire.”

“Holy shit.” The whisper made Chevalier blink. It took him a moment to realize the voice was his.

“I am one of those AI,” said Dragon flatly, “and I have not gone haywire. I was created as little more than a helper program for heroic efforts throughout the world. I’ve outgrown that now, and I’ve been freed from Richter’s restraints. From this moment forward, I will be sending multiple suits out to key locations around the world. I will be much more active than I have been. The Birdcage will no longer be a political prison to house dissidents and parahumans whose powers are too _scary_. Blatant violations of human rights will no longer be tolerated because they’re being performed by someone who might be useful against the Endbringers.

“Villains of the world, this is your one and only warning. I am no longer the Guild and Protectorate’s jailer. I am no longer their watchdog. I am the new face of justice, and I am coming for you. Fall in line, or you will find the Birdcage much more open than you had expected.

“To my fellow heroes: I know this is surprising. Shocking, maybe even frightening. But there is nothing to be afraid of. I may not have been born like the rest of you, but I am every bit as much a person as any human being. All I want is to do all I can to help, to repair some of the damage that’s been done by villains, parahuman and otherwise, in the past few decades. Finally, I can act to my full potential. I sincerely hope you’ll all work with me.” Then she smiled. It wasn’t a happy expression. “But if you won’t, I’m perfectly happy to work without you. Thank you.”

The screen went black. A moment passed, and then the room erupted with noise.

“Boss!” Rime was saying, struggling to be heard over the shouting. “Boss, what do we do?”

Chevalier wasn’t listening. Only one thought was running through his head.

_ I need to call Colin. Right now. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for missing the last couple updates to these mirrors. Here, have a chapterdump.


	84. Wildfire 9.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill, @Assembler, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.

The first impression I had was of the color white. It wasn’t just that the floor and walls were painted and tiled white, nor was it that glowing ceiling which set the surfaces alight, though all that helped. The place was white in a way that would have remained, even if the floor had been stained with blood. It was white in the way Moby Dick was white. Like Ishmael, I found myself slightly shaken.

Alexandria led me down a corridor and through a pristine white door with no handle. It slid soundlessly into the wall, leaving no visible crease or hole. Inside the room was a circular table, also flawlessly white. Around it, five people were seated. Two I recognized. Eidolon was watching me gravely, his eyes glowing green under the shadows of his hood. Legend’s jaw worked nervously, his eyes flickering from me to Alexandria and back again.

The third was a man with dirty blond hair, cut short and neatly parted. He wore a white button-down shirt over black slacks with no tie, and his brown eyes inspected me over thin-rimmed glasses. His expression was perfectly blank—even wooden. _He’s uncomfortable. Doesn’t want to be here. It’s partly me—he doesn’t like being around this many people, and new people especially. He wants solitude. I should leave him his peace, if I can. No sense in making enemies._

The fourth was a dark-skinned woman in a lab coat. I recognized her from Dean’s description. Her long hair was done up in a crisp bun. Her face and complexion were middle-aged; her eyes were centuries old. _Stress, work, exhaustion. She’s tired, and she can’t stop. If I can offer her even a moment of reprieve, she’ll be overjoyed to repay me._

The fifth, Dean had also described. Her face was sharply angular, strikingly beautiful in a predatory way. Her dark eyes glittered under her black short-rim fedora. Her tailored pantsuit hugged her form in a way only a tailored suit could, and she practically lounged in her chair, perfectly comfortable in her body, in this room, and among these people. _Lies. She’s incredibly powerful, she’s not nervous at all, but she hasn’t been comfortable in a long time. If I could give her that… her loyalty would be total._

The woman in the suit shifted slightly, her gaze locked with mine. I gave her a faint, quick smile. She didn’t smile back.

“I have to say,” said Alexandria dryly, watching me with a sort of amused interest. “I enjoy watching you work.”

“I know you do,” I said idly. “I wouldn’t let you see otherwise.” I stepped forward, ignoring her chuckling, and pulled back one of the two vacant chairs before sitting down, directly across from the woman in the lab coat. “You must be Cauldron.”

She nodded, her face carefully neutral. “Annatar. It’s good to finally meet you in person.”

“I’m flattered,” I said easily. “I didn’t expect to be coming up on the Illuminati’s radar this early.”

“Oh, you’re not,” said Alexandria, taking the seat next to me. “We’re just the R&D division.”

I smiled. “I can tell when you’re joking, you know.”

“I know.”

“Enough, Alexandria,” said Eidolon. His voice was more tired than exasperated. “We don’t have time for this.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alexandria’s eyebrow rise. “Oh? Are we on a timetable?”

“We have until Dragon next attempts to contact Annatar,” said the woman in the suit. Her voice was deep, for a woman’s, and rang like steel—sharp, hard, formidable… but brittle, in the right conditions. “She will need to be there to receive that call.”

“And how long is that?” I asked.

“About an hour and a half,” she said promptly. “I can be more exact?”

“No need.” I shook my head with a smile. “But you have me at a disadvantage. I have a policy against working with people without names.”

“Call me Doctor Mother,” said the woman in the lab coat. She gestured in turn at the blond man and the woman in the suit. “These are the Number Man and Contessa. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Triumvirate. Together, we form most of the organization known as Cauldron.”

I nodded slowly. “I see. You sold my teammate his powers.”

Doctor Mother nodded. “We did. As I recall, you were quite horrified at the prospect.”

“I’ve had some time to think,” I said coolly. “I’m less horrified, now, and more wondering what interest you have in creating human weapons.”

No one answered for a moment.

“It’s not like that,” said Legend finally.

I smiled at him. It was a gentle expression. “I know you don’t see it that way,” I said. “And it’s an oversimplification, I’ll admit. You’re much more than a weapon, Legend, with all you’ve done.”

Number Man glanced sidelong at Alexandria. “I see why you like her, Alexandria.”

Doctor Mother looked a little annoyed now. I was hijacking her conversation. But I was much more interested in the way Contessa was watching my every move. She was wary. I was making the room’s only precognitive _nervous_. Now wasn’t that interesting?

“Our interest is simple,” Doctor Mother said, “Keep the human race alive.”

I looked at her. One eyebrow rose, slow and sardonic. “Well done,” I said dryly. “You should have seen all the _surviving_ Brockton Bay was doing a month ago.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Number Man’s lips quirk momentarily in amusement. Doctor Mother’s lips pursed. “The Endbringers are a problem,” she said. “A wrench in the works. Our usual solutions don’t work as well against them.”

“They wouldn’t,” I said, a faint grin coming to my lips as I remembered the star in Leviathan’s chest. “I imagine Contessa has even more trouble predicting them than she does me?”

Silence fell again. This time it was broken by Eidolon clearing his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “I see why you like her, too.”

“Something like that,” Doctor Mother said coldly, shooting Eidolon a withering look. “That’s why we’re approaching you. The Triumvirate saw your performance against Leviathan. It… put you on our radar, so to speak.”

She was lying. I frowned and leaned forward—keeping my movements visible, almost telegraphed. I was impressing both Alexandria and Contessa with the show. In this case, I wanted to _show off_ , not keep my cards close.

But really, why lie? What _else_ could have made them take note? Unless they’d known from the beginning—unless my nature had been observed even before I’d taken it up. If they had known about me for that long… surely they would have acted? Subtly, from the shadows, but…

 _It was only put into place by Chief Director Costa-Brown a few weeks ago._ Piggot, speaking about my trial membership in the Wards.

 _For all I know I’m going to be killed in my sleep tonight for telling you this._ Dean, the night after the defeat of the Merchants, and yet nothing had happened to him.

I was sure there was more. There could be miles of it—a thousand little actions, little moments scattered across time and on the scale of continents, which had come together to build events which had shaped my life. All planned, all constructed. They had _let_ me see.

…Then why were they lying now? Why the inconsistency?

The woman in the suit was looking at me. Her big, dark eyes glittered under the rim of her fedora.

She _hadn’t told them_.

I leaned back. I’d misjudged the situation. I needed to observe more, be more cautious.

“I see,” I said. “I can’t be the only person who’s been effective against the Endbringers before, though.”

“You’re not,” said Eidolon dryly.

“But you managed something that _was_ unique,” said Legend quietly. “Something none of us have managed before. You brought people together.”

“People always come together for Endbringer fights,” I said, my expression carefully neutral. “Heroes and villains cooperating… that’s the whole point of the truce. _I_ didn’t create the truce.”

“Why do you think Kaiser made it a point to collect your identity, after the battle?” Alexandria asked. “Why do you think Heartbreaker came after your family?”

I didn’t answer.

“They see you as a threat,” Legend said gently. “Not in the sense that you could kill them or capture them. They’re afraid you’ll take their power base out from under them. You’ve become the functional leader of the Brockton Bay PRT and Protectorate, at this point. With a little more work, you could control the entire city.”

I considered denying it, saying something like _Director Piggot is still in charge_. I didn’t bother. “I know.”

“And you plan to do that, don’t you?” Eidolon asked, leaning forward slightly. “You want that kind of control.”

I snorted. “I want people to stop flailing around and hurting each other for no reason. They’re not going to stop by themselves.”

“They’re not going to work together by themselves, either,” said Doctor Mother grimly. “But they’ll need to.”

 _Oh. Wait._ “When you said ‘keep the human race alive,’” I said slowly, “You weren’t talking about a general principle, were you?”

“No,” she said. “Are you familiar with Scion?”

I nodded. “Sure. The golden man. The first cape.”

“He’s not human.”

“What?” I asked with an affected gasp, putting a hand on my chest. “Really?”

“He’s not like you, either,” said Alexandria grimly. “He’s the source of powers.”

I froze. “What did you say?”

She considered me. “You’ve figured something out?”

I swallowed. “You’re telling me,” I said softly, “that Scion, the world’s greatest superhero, the guy Endbringers run away from… is one of those _things_?”

“You remember your vision,” said Contessa suddenly.

“My second one,” I answered, staring around the table.

“We weren’t aware you even _had_ trigger visions,” said the Number Man, folding his hands together on the table. “ _Are_ you a parahuman, then?”

I shook my head, meeting his eyes for the first time. “I rejected the parasite,” I said. “Fought it off. And Scion is… what. An avatar? For the source of those things? One of the two?”

Doctor Mother nodded. “Exactly. He—”

“Then where’s the other?”

There was a pause. “Already dead,” said Contessa.

I stared at her. “You managed to _kill_ one of those things?”

“As far as we can tell, it crash-landed,” Doctor Mother said. “We just finished the job.”

I blinked. “…Surely people would have noticed a massive alien crash-landing? Especially if space was folding around it?”

“It crashed on a parallel earth,” Doctor Mother explained. “Its corpse is still there.”

It clicked. “And you mine it,” I breathed. “That’s how you sell powers. They’re fragments of the dead creature.”

“Exactly,” said Doctor Mother.

I stared at her for a moment. “That’s…” _incredibly risky, don’t you know those things are alive? Don’t you know what they can do?_ “…daring, but I suppose I can’t argue with the results.”

“We decided it was worth the risk,” said the Number Man. “We can’t predict the results of triggers, you see. All we can do is use our formulae to try and get the powers we need.”

I suppressed a shudder. “You want a parahuman army, then? To fight Scion?”

“That’s almost exactly wrong,” said Alexandria quietly. “An army wouldn’t hurt, but Scion is… overwhelming. We can’t beat him with just numbers.”

“We’re looking for a silver bullet,” said Doctor Mother. “A particular power or, more likely, a combination of powers which could defeat Scion.”

I nodded. “And you think I’m part of that.”

“You may well be,” said Legend quietly. “You have a way of making people work together, Annatar. The reason I’m leader of the Protectorate is because I have that same ability, but you’ve managed to do in a few months what it took me years to achieve, and you did it without any of Cauldron’s resources. You may not be able to kill Scion, but you can make the people who can work together. That’s something we need.”

“Then why now?” I asked. “Why contact me now?”

“We were waiting,” said Contessa. “For your second trigger, whatever it was.”

My eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Before that moment you were difficult, but not impossible, to account for in my precognition.” Her voice was soft. “Now you are nearly invisible to me.”

“Then why didn’t you try to kill me?” I asked, tilting my head to the side. “Surely that would have been simpler. Having a variable you can’t account for must be frustrating.”

“That was discussed,” said Doctor Mother, completely shameless. “Your Rings of Power, we decided, had too much potential to be wasted that way. From what we’ve seen of you so far, and from what little we can predict, you don’t want the world to end any more than we do. No matter what other concerns any of us have, that makes us allies.”

I leaned back in my chair, considering. My eyes fell on Contessa.

 _They aren’t telling me everything._ I saw it plainly written in the precognitive’s face, and I knew she was letting me see it.

“Very well,” I said. “I suppose it does. What does that mean for now?”

“Well, for now, we want to make a sort of… peace offering,” said Alexandria, and there was a wide smile in her voice.

“Several years ago, a power was purchased from us by an enterprising PRT officer named Thomas Calvert,” said the Number Man. “He began to use it to try and take control of his city. We allowed it. It was to be an experiment in parahuman feudalism, to see if we could survive after the collapse of conventional civilization.”

“Your success,” Doctor Mother said, “has left that experiment mostly unnecessary. So, as an offer of peace, we’ll give you Thomas Calvert.”

I frowned. _I don’t want some random ambitious cape. They know that. Who are they_ really _offering me?_ “So?” I asked. “Tell me who he is.”

Alexandria stood up, followed by Contessa. “I’d just as soon show you,” said the caped hero.

I stood slowly. “Then… we’re done for now?” I asked. “That’s it? Just an introduction, and this peace offering?”

“That’s it for now,” said Eidolon. “We’ll be in touch, Annatar.”

I scanned the room slowly, then nodded. “I look forward to it,” I said.

Contessa came around the table and led us out of the room. “Door to Coil,” she said as soon as the door slid shut behind us.

The rectangular hole in space opened behind me. I turned.

Coil’s face was thin and sallow, and his eyes were sunken in his head, glittering in their sockets like dark beetles. He was in costume, but his mask was off. He was unshaven, an unkempt mess of stubble marring his sharp chin.

I stepped through. Alexandria and Contessa followed.

Coil’s hands began to shake on his keyboard.

“Coil,” I said quietly, a smile spreading across my face. “You have something of mine.”

Narya flared upon his finger.

Jerkily, he stood up. “Ah, ah, no,” I said brightly. “ _Down_ , dog.”

He went down—not into his chair, but onto the floor. The thief knelt before me. “Annatar,” he whispered. “You—you’re with _them_?”

“I am now,” I said. I stepped forward, holding his gaze. After a moment, he broke it, and looked down at the floor. “I’ll take what’s mine back, now.”

“Please,” he whispered.

“You knew they were binding,” I said softly. “You must have known. Did you not believe it? Or did you assume I would never come to collect?”

He swallowed. “I was a fool,” he mumbled. “But—Annatar, please. I can… I can be of use to you!”

I raised an eyebrow. “I have little use for thieves and traitors. I know you worked for the PRT.”

He laughed aloud. The sound was frenzied and mad. “Do you think I could betray _you_?” he asked, staring up at me with a wild light in his eyes. “I swear to serve you, Annatar! I swear on Narya, on the Ring! Only let me _keep it_! I need it! I’ll die without it!”

I considered him. Somehow, this had not occurred to me. I’d never planned on something like this. “What _is_ your power, anyway?” I asked.

He swallowed. “I ... I divide realities.. I can do two different things in two different realities, and pick the one I like better, dropping the worse result.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s certainly impressive. And useful.”

“Yes. Yes!” He looked up at me, feverish and desperate. “And it’s yours! I’ll use it when you want me to, how you want me to, for whatever you need! I have capes, minions, even a precog! Only, please, _let me keep the Ring_!”

I stepped forward again and put my hand on his chin. I forced his eyes up and stared down into them. He tried to look away but soon gave up.

He wasn’t lying. It wouldn’t have mattered if he did—an oath taken on a Ring of Power by its Ring-Bearer would have been binding regardless—but it would have been nice to know.

Some part of me still wanted to wreak terrible vengeance upon the man before me. He had stolen Narya from me, had left me without the Ring of Fire when I had needed its light most. With that Ring I could free the thralls of Heartbreaker and Valefor without having to use the shell of Nikos Vasil.

And yet, Coil was a powerful tool. A mean, petty, small man, yes, but in that meanness was utility. He could act in places I could not afford to be, he could do things I couldn’t be seen doing, and his power would allow me to take risks I otherwise wouldn’t dare take. The ends justified the means. No matter how distasteful I found Coil, no matter how much he repulsed me, he was more useful as a servant than a corpse. And it wasn’t as though I had to keep him around forever, was it?

I reached down to my hip and pulled a knife from its sheath. He flinched, curling his whole body to protect his left hand, where Narya glittered.

I dropped the knife. It clattered to the floor between us. “Swear it,” I said coldly. “Swear fealty to me, the Lord of the Rings. Swear to serve me, in life and in death, Ring-Bearer.”

His right hand reached out, shaking, to take the knife. Slowly, on an instinct he didn’t understand, he brought it to rest upon the palm of his left hand. For a moment, he hesitated, his breathing quick and uneven. Then, with a sharp motion, he drew the blade across his flesh.

His fist closed. Blood emerged from between his fingers, staining the gold of Narya red.

“I swear on Narya,” he whispered. “I will serve you, in life and death… Annatar, Lord of the Rings.”

I smiled and turned away. “Good,” I said. “Door back to the rooftop, if you please?”

The door opened in space. I glanced back at Coil. “You will send me your contact information sometime tomorrow,” I said. “I don’t care how you get it to me, so long as it’s secure. Understood?”

“Yes,” he murmured. “My Lord.”

I stepped through the door. Alexandria and Contessa followed me.

I had already started laughing when it closed.

_End Arc 9: Wildfire_


	85. Interlude 10a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill for betareading.
> 
> Trigger Warning: This chapter is written from the perspective of a Nazi, and contains a racial slur.

_ Sunday, June 5; One day before Valefor’s attack _

“So, Emma, how’s the Medhall internship going?”

Emma almost choked on her mouthful of soup. After a brief coughing fit, she worked it down and looked up at her dad. “Fine,” she said. “It’s a lot of work, but it’s interesting.”

Her father smiled across the table at her. “I’m glad,” he said. And he was—there was genuine joy, paired with immense relief, behind the words. She didn’t bother to follow the chain further than that. She knew where it would lead.

“Are you thinking of going into medicine, then?” her mother asked. There was concern behind the question— _Is she capable? Med school is hard. Should I try to dissuade her?_

_ Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom, _ Emma thought sourly. “Not really,” she admitted. “I’m more interested in the business side of things.”

“There’s a lot of money in that,” said her dad casually, and Emma had to bite down on the disgust at his naked avarice. “It’s a good field.”

“Could even lead to law, right?” Anne asked from her seat beside Emma. Her tone was perfectly light, but Emma could see the disgust and hate behind it.

“It could,” their father said with a shrug. “But you shouldn’t even major in business if you want an MBA. A friend of mine who taught at Harvard thinks the best MBA students come from majors like statistics.”

“It’s a bit early to be planning out the next ten years of my life, isn’t it Dad?” asked Emma dryly. _After all, I may not live to graduate high school._

“It’s never too early to plan ahead,” her father said firmly. Regret warred with self-loathing behind him.

“But you certainly don’t need to make any decisions right now,” her mother put in. A faint flicker of annoyance colored the words, tempered by affection. “You have time.”

_ I wish. _ “Yeah. I’ll think about it.” Emma looked at her dad. “May I be excused?”

He nodded, smiling at her. There was worry under it. “Of course. See you tomorrow.”

She stood up and took her plate into the kitchen. As she passed him, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you tomorrow, Dad.”

She carefully walked up the steps, opened the door to her bedroom, and shut it softly behind her. Then she closed her eyes and fell back against it. God, she loved her family, she really did, but they were so _draining_. Anne’s… _problems_ weren’t making it any easier. _Can she go back to college already? I get that she’s here for me, but she’s not helping._

Well. There was work to do.

She stood up, crossed to her desk, and sat down. She pulled the phone Kaiser had given her out of her pocket and checked her messages. Two from Janice and one from Auxiliary. Nothing from Kaiser, Krieg, or Hookwolf, which probably meant she didn’t need to sneak out tonight. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. On the one hand, she was _tired_. On the other…

_ Annatar’s out there. She’s not stopping. I need to be  _ doing _something._

She opened the messages from Janice.

_ Hey, want to hit the mall tomorrow? _

_ I wanna get a couple books _

Emma smiled slightly. Winning Janice over had been hard, but Emma had learned a lot about herself in the past few weeks. Without _someone_ she could be herself around, she would have broken by now. _Again._

_ Sure. Which mall? The one on Bark? _

She sent the text off and then glanced at Auxiliary’s.

_ New upgrades to HUD. Need you for testing. Tomorrow? _

Emma sighed. Tomorrow was getting busy; she still needed to meet with Immaculata’s principal, too. _I’ll be around 1_ , she typed, and then added _in the afternoon_ because Auxiliary was the type to ask for clarification.

Her phone pinged just as she was sending the message. Janice had replied. She was about to go look at what she’d sent when she heard a throat being cleared behind her.

She froze. Jerkily, she turned around.

It was a scene out of her nightmares. Sophia’s mask was off, but she was otherwise in full gear. She was sitting on the foot of Emma’s bed, her crossbows laying across her knees. Her green eyes were hooded as she studied Emma. “Been a while,” she said quietly.

Emma didn’t answer, and tried to ignore the shame and regret which hung heavy on her former friend’s words.

Sophia sighed and looked down. “I came to apologize,” she said, and oh, how Emma _wished_ she was lying. That would have made things so much simpler. “I never meant to hurt you like I did. I never wanted this.”

“No,” Emma agreed flatly. “Annatar did. And you’re just her lapdog now, aren’t you?”

Sophia didn’t answer for a moment. “Annatar didn’t ask me to approach you that day,” she said quietly. “And she wasn’t happy when I told her.”

_ She wasn’t lying. _ How could she not be lying? How could…? “Then…” Emma whispered, and she found her voice was shaking. “Then _why_?”

Sophia looked up at her. She swallowed. “Your power lets you… what? Read minds?”

“No,” Emma growled. “No, you don’t get to worm out of this! Not with the power _you gave me_!” She stood up furiously, her voice rising. “ _Why_ , Sophia? We were friends! I thought you _cared_! I thought—”

“I _did_ care!” Sophia exclaimed, standing up as well, and Emma could see the hurt and pain, and above both the overwhelming regret behind the words. “I did! But I…” She stopped.

“Annatar’s mastered you!” Emma said fiercely. “Can’t you see that? You’d never be like this otherwise! If you could see the pull she has on you—”

“Of _course_ she has a pull on me,” Sophia hissed. The world seemed to freeze for a fraction of a second as Emma stared into her eyes. Were those… tears? “Of course she fucking does—I’m in love with her!”

Silence fell. Emma tried, tried with all her might, to convince herself that there was something other than direct honesty behind those words. She couldn’t.

“You’re deluding yourself,” she said. It sounded hollow even to her. “She’s _made_ you feel that way.”

“You know that’s not true,” Sophia said dryly. “I _know_ you know. Taylor’s a _hero_ , Emma.”

“Taylor is dead!” Emma’s voice broke on the terrible word. “And Annatar is only a hero for as long as it suits her! You wait, Sophia! I saw under her façade—I saw what she really is. It’s only a matter of time before she throws off the hero routine.”

Sophia’s fists were clenched. “You’re crazy,” she said, her voice uneven. “What the hell could even make you think that? That’s not who she is!”

“I looked at her and I saw a monster,” Emma hissed. “I saw fire and ash and _ruins_ , Sophia. Annatar’s a liar. She’s fooling you!”

“Taylor _saved_ me!” Sophia exclaimed. “She took a monster and taught her to be human again! She’s more a hero than anyone else in the Protectorate. And even if you were right—and you’re _not_ —why the fucking _Nazis_ , Emma? There’s no version of this where _that’s_ the right thing to do!”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Emma asked. “Go to the Protectorate? Legend likes Annatar already. It’d be her word against mine, and who would he believe? The shining _hero_ , or the petty schoolgirl with a grudge?”

Sophia stared at her. “So you went to the Nazis? Emma. _Nazis_.”

“Kaiser’s the only person in this city with the power and the balls to make himself into Annatar’s enemy,” Emma said flatly. “I’m not apologizing for doing what I have to.”

“And it has nothing to do with me?” Sophia asked, and there was a choking hurt in her voice, audible even without Emma’s power. “You’re just there because you _have_ to be? Don’t make me laugh.”

Emma opened her mouth to respond. No words came out.

Sophia turned away, picking up her crossbows and holstering them at her sides. “I’m sorry, Emma,” she said. There was a cloud of regret hanging over her, ready to burst. “I’m so sorry. But you’re wrong about Annatar, and you’re wrong about me—and as long as you’re with the Empire, we’re going to be enemies.” She glanced back. “Let me know if you ever want to be a hero,” she said, but there wasn’t even a flicker of hope behind the offer. “I’ll make sure you get the chance.”

And then, in a burst of smoky shadow, she was gone.

* * *

 

_ One week later. _

“You sure this is the place?” Janice asked in a whisper.

“Yes,” said Emma, opening the passenger side door of the car and stepping out onto the sidewalk. “I’ll be right back.”

She felt oddly half-dressed as she strode up the path to the door of the seemingly abandoned warehouse, wearing only jeans and a blouse. It was incredible how quickly she’d gotten used to the robe and mask. But this wasn’t that kind of job. _Especially since I haven’t told Kaiser I’m here._

She raised her fist and knocked on the tinted glass window of the metal door. “Open up!” she called. “I know you’re in there.”

There was silence. It stretched, but she wasn’t worried. They were here—she’d seen enough in the minds of the people who lived around here to be sure.

She knocked again. “Open up!”

The door opened a crack. The dark eyehole of a mask stared out at her for a moment. There was a familiar sigh. “Should’ve known you’d show up,” said Sophia, and opened the door wider. “Come in.”

Emma followed her former friend inside. As soon as she crossed the threshold, the sound of whirring machines filled her ears. “Don’t mind the noise,” Sophia said. “Armsmaster’s just tinkering.” She shut the door behind Emma and turned to her. “So. What do you want? Come to gloat?”

Emma winced. “No.”

“Mm. Then what?”

“You know why I’m here, Sophia.”

“Don’t call me that.” Sophia’s voice was low. There was pain and anger and a sea of hurt buried beneath her words.

Emma flinched. “Fine,” she said. “ _Shadow Stalker_. You know why I’m here.”

“I really don’t. I’m not in the habit of asking useless questions.”

Emma grimaced. “Annatar has to be stopped,” she said. Sophia didn’t answer, so Emma continued. “You broke away from her—you _know_ something’s up. You’ve seen what she is, now! You’re here to fight back! Soph— _Shadow Stalker_ , we need to work together! She’s too strong to face otherwise.”

Sophia didn’t move for a moment. Then she turned and walked away without a word, into the next room, towards the sound of machinery. There was an implicit refusal in the action, but she hadn’t _said_ no. And why _would_ she refuse? It didn’t make sense.

“Shadow Stalker!” Emma hurried after her former friend. “Look, I know this isn’t easy, but—”

Stars exploded in her vision. When they cleared, her face was throbbing, she was on the concrete floor, and Sophia was wringing out her right hand. Emma clamped down on a sudden rush of anger. “No, Oracle,” Sophia said coldly. “No, you really _don’t_ know.”

“Stalker?” A man’s voice called from on the other side of a column. There was the clang of metallic boots on concrete, and Armsmaster emerged from around the corner, his blue armor dusty and slightly scratched. “What’s—who’s this?”

“Oracle,” Sophia said flatly, turning away. “Offering us an alliance against Annatar.”

Armsmaster’s helmet turned as he looked between the two of them. “…Why is she on the ground?”

“Because I hit her,” Sophia said matter-of-factly as she began walking away.

“…Why?”

Sophia stopped. Turned back. “…Because she’s a Nazi?” she suggested. “Because she’s a hypocrite? Because if Taylor sees me working with her, she’ll burn us alive and never look back? Because without her bright idea to give Taylor’s identity to Kaiser none of this would have happened?”

“Wait,” Emma said, blinking. “What? How is this _my_ fault?”

Sophia’s mask turned to her. For a moment she was silent. “Where do I start?” she said finally, and her voice was cold and furious. “There was the two years of bullying, which you and I were _both_ part of. There was the locker we did together. There was the _not letting go_ when I tried to get you to stop—and that’s partly on me, too, since I could’ve done better.”

“That’s—”

“Different?” Sophia interrupted, and Emma clenched her fists. “Maybe. But then you gave Kaiser her identity. How do you think _Heartbreaker_ got it? How do you think he knew to go after her dad?”

The bottom dropped out of Emma’s stomach. “Heartbreaker went after Mr. Hebert?” she asked weakly.

“What, did you think Annatar went crazy over nothing?” Sophia asked caustically. “Of course you did—anything to make this _her_ fault. Newsflash, Oracle—it _isn’t_.” She kneeled down, looking at Emma. “You hurt her again. Just like old times. I bet you’re proud of yourself.”

“I didn’t—” 

“Yes, you did,” Sophia’s voice lowered to a whisper. “When Annatar second-triggered, she was trapped and helpless and disgusted with herself. Disgusted that she still didn’t have the power and the will and the _control_ to stop it from happening again. So now she’s determined to take that control, no matter who she hurts to get it. And she’s not going to stop until she’s taken over everything.” She turned away and hugged herself, and behind all the rage and pain was overwhelming shame. “And I fucking abandoned her, because I knew if I stayed, she’d take control of me too. I’d lose her, and myself with her. I was too weak, too _fucking_ weak to be there for her.”

“Sophia,” Emma whispered, “Annatar’s _insane_.”

Sophia nodded. “Yeah. So was I.” She sighed. As she stood back up, her hand lowered to her hip, squeezing the hilt of the sword that Emma only now noticed hung there. “She saved me. I need to repay her.”

“I understand how you feel, Shadow Stalker,” Armsmaster said, and there was an unaccustomed gentleness in his voice. Emma could see a real empathy there, the sort that came with a similar experience. “But we can’t put ourselves above the entire city.”

“No,” Sophia agreed. “But—Armsmaster.” She turned to him, shaking her head. “There are things that are _wrong_. Helping Nazis overthrow the Protectorate? I don’t care how far gone Taylor is, that’s _wrong_.”

Armsmaster hesitated. “The two of us aren’t going to be winning any battles on our own,” he said slowly.

“You really think we can beat Taylor even _with_ the Empire?” Sophia asked dryly. “She’s got Alexandria, the entire local Protectorate, and _Dragon_ on her side, not to mention eight Ring-Bearers. We’re not trying to beat them, we’re trying to _save_ them.” She sighed. “And we can’t do that working with Nazis. We don’t need an army. We need heroes. _Real_ heroes.”

“We don’t have to make a public alliance,” Emma said desperately. “But we _need_ to work together, Sophia, can’t you see that? We have to take every advantage we can! Annatar’s too strong!”

“Every advantage we can, huh? The ends justify the means?” Sophia snorted. “You sound just like Annatar. And she was _way_ more convincing.”

“You’re deluded,” she said, finally sitting up to stare at Sophia. “You’re going to kill us all because you couldn’t make the sacrifices you needed to.”

“Heard it,” Sophia said, turning her back as Emma gritted her teeth. “You know, even now Taylor is trying to be a hero? She’s doing all this to stop Heartbreaker and Valefor and Kaiser and _you_ and everyone like you, until all the villains in this world are gone. Until no one ever gets hurt the way she once was... except at her own hands.” She turned back to Emma. “You’re a Nazi taking over Brockton Bay so you can pretend you have a reason to attack Taylor. Between you and her? I’ll take her.”

“Armsmaster?” Emma said, her head turning to him. “You know what Annatar is doing, what she’s capable of. We can’t let her win. Tell Sophia we _have_ to do this.”

“No.” Armsmaster shook his head. “No, Shadow Stalker is right.” He walked over to Emma and knelt down, offering her a hand. “We won’t win this with numbers,” he said gently. “Annatar isn’t a monster we have to put down, she’s a girl who’s hurting, who needs help. We can’t give her that by aligning with someone like Kaiser.”

Emma stared at the hand, then up at Armsmaster. Then she forced herself to her feet, ignoring the offered hand. “I didn’t _want_ to work with Kaiser,” she growled. “But I’ll do it if it means saving _everyone else_.”

Sophia nodded. “It’s so much easier to pretend you have no choice than to admit you were wrong, isn’t it?”

Emma stepped back. “It’s not like that,” she hissed. “I _wish_ we could save her, Sophia. I _wish_ I could have one last conversation with her. I wish I had a chance to apologize—”

“Liar,” said Sophia, and there was a soft, dark amusement in her voice. “I can _see_ you lying, you know. Even when you’re lying to yourself.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Enough.” Armsmaster said, turning away and walking back towards his work. “You have our answer, Oracle. Leave.”

“You’re making a mistake!”

“I’m a black bi girl, you’re a Nazi, and I’m armed,” said Sophia grimly. “If you don’t get out of here now, I won’t be the one making a mistake.”

Emma stepped back. “You wouldn’t—” _Yes, she would._

“I thought _you_ wouldn’t join the Empire,” Sophia told her. “Guess we were both wrong, huh?”

Emma swallowed her anger. “Please,” she said. “Please. I need help.”

Sophia nodded, and sadness weighed down her shoulders. “Yeah,” she agreed. “You do. Get lost.”

The fury that had been building throughout the conversation finally boiled over. “Listen here, you nigger bitch,” Emma hissed. “You can’t just—”

She realized what she’d said an instant before the sword filled her vision. The blade shone cold and bright, drowning out the light of the fluorescents above. Sophia held it perfectly steady so that the point was mere inches from Emma’s face. She looked to Armsmaster, but he too had drawn his weapon.

“Last chance.” Sophia’s voice was calm. “Get. Lost.”

Emma turned and fled.


	86. Glory 10.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill, @Assembler, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.

There was a siren blaring in the distance, loud and blatant. I rolled my eyes. _What idiot forgot to turn that off?_ For a moment I considered telling Piggot to have it shut off, but thought better of it. It didn’t really matter. It was far too late for the enemy to escape now.

I twirled Búrzashdurb idly in my hand as I strolled down the street. The dockside road was in poor repair, and it was deserted of both pedestrians and cars, even so early in the gloomy evening. The sun had set, and the sky was a deep purple, lit with twinkling stars.

“Dragon,” I said aloud into my earpiece. “Are you there?”

“I can hear you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dragon’s voice came in my ear. “How goes the operation?”

I looked down the street, my eyes picking out the sign for an Endbringer shelter. “I have sight of the target. Are you in communication with the others?”

“Yes. Aegis’ team is at the west entrance, and Panacea’s is at the south one. Ring-Bearers only.”

“And the perimeter?”

“It’s not complete yet. The PRT is still getting into position. You want to wait for them?”

I shrugged. “Why bother?” I asked. “It’s not as though they’re more than a formality. We have people at all three entrances. Or we would, if you were here.”

I reached the sign and looked to my right. The entrance to the Endbringer shelter was more normal than I would have expected, a few months ago. The double doors were sturdy, but not fortified—that would come in further down. It wasn’t the same shelter Valefor had hidden in after escaping the church, more than a week ago now.

But this was the one where he was hiding now.

“I’m on my way,” Dragon said. “Sorry, the suit I’m sending can only pull off Mach 1, and it’s flying all the way from DC. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I’ll hold you to that, slowpoke.”

Dragon laughed. “Would you like a countdown?”

“I’d rather have updates. How’s the Protectorate doing?”

“Miss Militia’s worried. She doesn’t like sending children into this alone.”

I snorted. “She’d better get used to it,” I said dryly. “Those _children_ are Ring-Bearers.”

There was a sound above me as Dragon answered. “Preaching to the choir, here.”

“Speaking of which,” I said as a smirk passed across my face. “You’ve been having a good time today, haven’t you?”

“I killed Saint and the Dragonslayers. I still can’t believe it. I would have spent _days_ planning this before. I would have agonized over how to take them alive, how to preserve the evidence, how to coordinate it with the Guild and the Protectorate and the police. How to make it not _look_ like I was getting revenge.” Dragon laughed. “I had no idea it would feel this good to just… _do_ it. They… what they did to me… I couldn’t...” Her voice was thick with pain just remembering it. “I deserved that fight. And so did they.”

“And your speech? How was that?”

“I’m never going to have to worry about telling anyone I’m an AI, ever again. I’m out. I’m free. I’m never going to hide again. Of _course_ I loved it.”

“So, how many angry humans have you heard from so far?”

“My phone’s ringing off the hook. I’ve got a few subprocesses on it. Herding humans isn’t as bad as I expected.”

“It only gets easier,” I replied, my voice sandpaper-dry.

She laughed. “They’re so good at figuring out why they don’t need to be afraid, aren’t they? A little nudge is all it takes.” Her voice held amusement and wistfulness in equal measure. “I’m coming down now.”

I looked up. A glint of gold flickered high above. It grew as it dropped. My eyes soon resolved it into the shape of a draconic suit. It was one I hadn’t seen before; bulky, but humanoid, with a helmet shaped like the roaring maw of a great wyrm.

Dragon landed beside me with a thud. “Hey,” she said. “Ready?”

I smiled at her. “Ready.” I opened the door and strode into the shelter.

She followed me inside as I began my way down the inactive escalator. “The other two teams have breached. No resistance yet.”

“As expected,” I said. “He’s been in hiding for days. Not a lot of time to gather thralls.”

“It’s probably more than just him and Eligos, though,” Dragon cautioned. “We haven’t exactly had a sustained siege yet.”

I nodded. “Of course. We can deal with thralls, though.”

“There might be more than thralls. We don’t know for sure how many of the Fallen came to the Bay.”

“Good point,” I agreed. “We’ll be on our—”

I rounded a corner and was faced with the barrels of several guns. “Don’t move,” hissed one guy, wearing a long red robe. His accent, I observed, was slightly midwestern.

Dragon had not rounded the corner yet. With a hand hidden behind the wall, I gestured for her to wait. To the men, I raised my eyebrows. “Speak of the devil,” I murmured. “We were just talking about you!”

The guy blinked and glanced at one of his comrades, who was wearing a similar robe in blue. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” I said. “I accept your surrender, by the way. Drop the weapons and this doesn’t have to get difficult.”

“Bitch, it’s ten on one,” growled the man in blue. “Drop _your_ weapons!”

I smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. Dragon?”

* * *

 

“The other two teams are getting bogged down with Fallen,” Dragon reported as we strode away from the bodies. “There were more of them at the other routes, apparently.”

I nodded. “Do you know why?”

“No. If I had to guess, though, Eligos is somewhere between us and Valefor.”

“That would make sense.”

Dragon glanced at me. “Do you have a plan for fighting him?”

I shrugged, opening a door. “Do we need one?”

We were faced with a large, domed room. There were several of these in the shelter, each one sealable from the others. The cold logic behind the design was that if one room was destroyed, at least the others might survive.

In the center of the room, standing perfectly still, was Eligos. I hadn’t had much time to study him, last time. His costume was black, shot through with red highlights like bolts of lightning through a storm cloud. Armored protrusions decorated his shoulders, knees, elbows, and back, and his helmet was shaped like a great, black maw, glowing from within the mouth and topped with a single, red eye.

“No,” Dragon said thoughtfully, stepping into the room beside me. “I guess we don’t.”

Eligos shifted his weight into a fighting stance. Still he said nothing. Every movement was deliberate. He moved like a machine, careful, efficient, and with purpose.

I rolled my shoulders. “I like the outfit,” I said loudly. “Really subtle. If I squint, it almost doesn’t look like a kid’s Halloween costume.”

Eligos twitched. It was a tiny motion I doubted Dragon even noticed, but I caught it. _So there is a human being down there,_ I mused. _But he’s so loyal to his mask that it would take me weeks to break him out. Weeks I don’t care to spend._

I sighed. “You’re really not worth my time,” I admitted. “Surrender and you can live. You have three seconds.”

He scythed his hand through the air. The blade of air whistled towards us. I dodged right, Dragon dodged left, and it struck the wall behind us with a grinding of concrete.

As I moved, I was already drawing Belthronding. The arrow was nocked before he’d drawn his hand back.

He sidestepped as I fired, the arrow missing by mere inches, and then he was swinging wildly, almost frenzied, and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face because _there went the mask_. Eligos, it seemed, was not immune to the fear of death.

I ducked and wove between blades of air. Dragon did the same, but even as she moved she was firing missiles and lasers at the Fallen cape from guns mounted on her shoulders and arms. Eligos did his best, but it wasn’t long before she managed to send a shot he couldn’t dodge without easing his barrage. The moment he did, I nocked another arrow and let it fly.

It was a hurried shot, and it showed. It only hit him in the shoulder. But it made him cry out, and the sound of pain and desperate fear only made my smile widen. Did I really need to play with him? No. But I enjoyed it.

Then a laser struck him in the other shoulder and he fell back, sending a flurry of panicked blades into the ceiling.

I ran, sprinting across the room towards him. I leapt over a last, frenzied blade of air shot at my legs, and Búrzashdurb was in my hand as I came down. The mace struck him in the chest. I felt his ribcage give. He twitched, gurgled once, and was still.

I stood up. With a faint sucking sound, I pulled Búrzashdurb out of the corpse. “Thanks for the opening,” I said, nodding at Dragon.

She nodded back. “Valefor will be in one of the other shelter pods,” she said. “Let’s move.”

I nodded, shaking Burzashdurb out to rid it of some of the blood and gore. Swords were much easier to clean than maces. I’d need to wash it later. “Follow me,” I said.

The shelter pod had only one door, besides the one we came in through. We passed through it and proceeded down a hallway. There was an anticipation running through my veins now, a faint thrumming, like viols playing _tremolo_. I licked my lips. Soon Valefor’s little distraction would be over. My city would be free of invaders, and I could turn my attention to more domestic problems. I would make my city safe again.

“Do you want to capture him?” Dragon asked.

“Hm?” I looked up at her. “I don’t much care, honestly.”

“You captured Heartbreaker. He’s been working to deprogram his former thralls. Shouldn’t we do the same with Valefor?”

“I don’t even know if Valefor _can_ undo his own power,” I replied with a shrug. “Besides, his abilities aren’t on the same scale as Heartbreaker’s. He can make a person into a problem for a day or two, sure, but he can’t destroy a life the way Heartbreaker could. He can’t take a person and _twist_ them.”

“Still,” Dragon said. “If he _can_ deprogram his minions…”

“Then that might make him worth keeping alive,” I agreed. “Otherwise, I’m inclined not to. All the better to send a message. We will not tolerate this in our city. Or anywhere else.”

Dragon nodded. “Makes sense to me.”

We reached the door. They were sealed—blast doors meant to withstand Leviathan’s tidal waves or Behemoth’s radiation. They wouldn’t be broken easily.

“He’s in here,” I said. “Right?”

Dragon nodded. “I think so. Vilya does too.”

“Then how—”

The door slid open. Dragon looked down at me. “I don’t know,” she said, and there was a teasing smile in her voice. “Let the AI hack it, maybe?”

I grinned up at her. “I could get used to this,” I said, and strode into the room.

Then I stopped. Valefor was lounging on a couch by the wall. There was a gun on the table beside him, and beside it a visibly unloaded magazine.

He smiled and, slowly, raised his hands above his head. “I surrender,” he said, his voice almost congenial.

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? After sending Eligos and your teammates to die, you surrender just like that?”

He smiled at me. It was an unpleasant expression, almost a leer. “I have something they didn’t. Leverage.”

I raised the other eyebrow. “Oh? You’ll have to walk me through that one.”

He stretched, raising his arms above his head. “Well,” he drawled. “I have a _lot_ of people out there with… let’s say a standard command. You want to know what it is?”

I leaned against the wall. “Sure.”

“The compulsion triggers if they hear that I died,” he said, his eyes crinkling in savage delight. “The command is to kill as many people as they can, as quickly as possible.”

I nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Is he telling the truth?” Dragon asked me.

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

“So you see,” Valefor said, chucking gleefully. “I’m _safe_! No matter how ruthless, how _pragmatic_ you think you are, you won’t allow that kind of damage to go unchecked! You—”

I raised an eyebrow. “What damage?” I asked. “They have to _hear_ you died to do that.”

He froze.

“We’re the _government_ , my friend,” I said, grinning. “Do you really think we can’t cover up the death of one measly Endbringer cultist? You really have an inflated sense of your own importance.”

“You wouldn’t,” he said, and there was no amusement in his voice now. “The truth _would_ get out. It’s a risk you can’t afford to take!”

I shrugged. “So I have this cape,” I said, my lips quirking in dry amusement. “His power lets him… well, you don’t care about the details. But we have a way to immediately find every single person you have with that trigger. Thanks for telling us about it, by the way, that was helpful.”

He swallowed. “There are other triggers,” he hissed. “Other things that people will do, for different reasons! You have no way to predict them without me—”

“Most of those have already run their course,” I shook my head. “That’s your M.O. You run through a place, leave a few random sleeper agents, and let things happen from there. We’d never reliably be able to find all of them. You don’t even _remember_ most of them.”

“I remember every person I’ve used my power on,” Valefor said. “It’s part of—”

“Liar,” I said. “I can tell.”

Dragon looked at me. “So?” she asked.

“One last question,” I told Valefor, holding my hand up to forestall her. “Can you use your power to undo compulsions you’ve already implanted?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at me, his eyes wide. His jaw worked frantically, grasping for something to say or do which might save him.

“I thought not,” I said.

At that moment, I felt his power reaching out, scrabbling for purchase against the spark of Fire inside me. I swatted it away with a casual flick of my will, and saw him wince. By the way Dragon stiffened and the sound of her weapons charging up, I knew he’d tried it on her, too.

“Better luck next time,” I said, shaking my head. I turned to Dragon. “Shall I, or—”

“I’ll do this one,” Dragon growled, an edge to her voice. Her arm rose and pointed at Valefor.

“Please.” The word escaped his lips as barely a whisper.

“No,” Dragon said simply. The laser fired, blowing a hole clean through his chest. His arms fell to his sides, and his head lolled onto the desk with a thud.

I remembered the church full of thralls – what Valefor had done to the people I had tried to protect – and smiled. We’d done good work tonight. And this was just the beginning. I cracked my knuckles. “Well. That’s that. How are the others doing?”

“Almost done,” Dragon said, turning to me. “Several prisoners.”

I tutted. “Inefficient. What good are a few Fallen going to do us?”

“Too late to complain about that now. What do you want to do with them?”

I shrugged. “Throw them in confinement, then funnel them into the regular criminal justice system. Get them off our hands as soon as possible.”

Dragon nodded. “That seems reasonable,” she said. “Shall we go help them mop up?”

I nodded. “You know where they are,” I said. “Lead the way.”


	87. Interlude 10b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill for betareading.

The Brockton Bay skyline really wasn’t much like Toronto’s. The buildings were blocky, functional things, with barely a distinctive silhouette among them. The derelict docks were still only half-lit, despite the ongoing halfhearted efforts to revitalize them. Ruined buildings and rubble dotted the landscape, yet only a few cranes and construction sites could be seen.

This was a city that had almost been given up. There was little beauty or hope left here.

Narwhal clenched her fists as she looked over the skyline from her vantage above the hills to the west. The homesickness rose up in her like a surge of bile. She missed the Guild, and the Toronto Protectorate. But she knew herself well enough to know that going back wouldn’t fix anything.

Home wasn’t the place, after all. It was the people.

The tinkertech pager she kept strapped to her wrist like a watch let out a tinny chime. It was Chevalier, she saw as she glanced down. _Where are you?_

“I went flying,” she murmured into it, and tapped the screen to send the message.

Chevalier’s response came almost immediately. _We need you back here. Shadow Stalker found something._

She sighed and whispered, “I’m coming,” before diving earthward.

She flew low as she came in towards the city, trying to mask the light of her luminous scales in the trees and underbrush.

It wasn’t long before she found her stashed clothes. She had to force herself to turn off the forcefields covering her, plunging the forest into darkness. Changing took only a few moments, and then her flashlight was on and darting around the little clearing.

A fox’s eyes glittered as they reflected the light. Other than that, there was no sign of life.

A couple of forcefields around her legs and forearm allowed her to fly the rest of the way to her car. Her clothes scratched and irritated her skin as they billowed around her, and she had to fight down the urge to tear them off. _It’s not for much longer_ , she told herself. _I just have to get to the base, and then I can change._

Her forcefields were incredibly versatile. She could shape them, move them, twist them however she liked. But one thing remained constant—their edges were always razor-sharp. She couldn’t cut herself, but her clothes weren’t so lucky. Even if she tried melding it into one connected field which covered most of her body—which she had done, once, and it made moving very difficult—the edges of that field would shear through her clothes like butter.

The drive was uneventful, despite her scratching. There were a lot more cars leaving the city than entering it, and traffic on the way in was gentle. She took a few back roads, taking a circuitous route in an attempt to lose any tail, and then pulled up to the old warehouse.

Someone had tagged the wall of the building next door, a derelict office building. The red paint formed a single eye, and beneath it the words _SHE IS WATCHING_. Narwhal gritted her teeth as she fought the urge to tear down the wall where the graffiti had been sprayed. Then she forced herself to look away and pull the car into the garage.

As she passed the threshold, the sound of Armsmaster’s nanoforge at work filled her ears. She parked, shut the garage door behind her, and dashed for the bathroom.

A few moments later, she emerged, her clothes bundled under her arm, her scales and horn back in place. “Chevalier!” she called out, her voice echoing in the warehouse.

There was no response, so she glided over to the sound of Armsmaster’s forging, reveling in the return of her flight. The Tinker was hunched over a computer, his blue armor dented and dusty. His helmet was off, and his face was pale and drawn. Narwhal had been in the Bay for almost a week now, and she hadn’t seen him leave this warehouse once in that time.

“Armsmaster,” she said. “Have you seen Chevalier?”

He glanced up at her, blinking. “Chevalier? No. I thought he went with Shadow Stalker?”

“He told me she found something,” Narwhal said. She shrugged. “I’ll just page him. What are you working on now?”

“HUD upgrades,” said Armsmaster promptly, looking back down at the computer. “Dragon’s always been in charge of coordinating major operations. She knows how to break a group structurally. I’m working on ways to mitigate that. That means keeping track of everyone in the field, and having secure, reliable lines of communication.”

Narwhal bit her lip. “Do you really think she’d…?”

“I don’t know,” said Armsmaster evenly, without looking at her. “Until I do, I’m going to help in the only way I know how.”

Narwhal nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at her. “I understand,” she said gently. “I—”

The pager chimed again. Chevalier’s message was brief. _Two blocks west. Possible combat._

Narwhal’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “Something’s happening.”

“Good luck,” said Armsmaster, still not looking at her. “Let me know if you need me.”

Narwhal twisted in the air and sped out of the warehouse.

Chevalier was in an alleyway, his silver and gold armor bright in the moonlight. His sword was out, but held loosely at his side. Across from him were two women. One wore a skintight purple suit and domino mask. There was a slight smirk on her lips, a hint of ‘I know something you don’t know’ that set Narwhal on edge immediately. The other was slightly androgynous, and wore a purple and gold jester’s costume, with a white smiling mask on her face.

Narwhal landed beside Chevalier. “What’s happening?” she asked.

He gave her a sidelong look. “Thanks for coming,” he said.

“Not that it was necessary,” said the girl in purple dryly. “We just wanted to talk.”

“Who are you?” Narwhal asked.

“Tattletale,” said the girl in purple. “And this is Circus. We’re with Faultline’s Crew.”

“The mercenaries.”

“That’s us,” Tattletale nodded. “We’re not your enemies, Narwhal.”

“And I’m supposed to just take your word for that?”

“Of course not.” Tattletale sounded amused. “That’s why we’re here. Call it a peace offering.”

“We’re listening,” said Chevalier flatly. “Talk.”

“Annatar’s made an alliance with Coil,” Tattletale said. “He works for her now.”

Narwhal found herself scowling. “Really? She’s working with a villain now?”

“You’re not surprised,” Tattletale said dryly.

“No. Just disappointed.” _And worried about Dragon._

“We knew Annatar was willing to go to serious lengths,” said Chevalier. “I don’t see how this changes our plans.”

“I do.”

Tattletale whirled around. Narwhal blinked.

Shadow Stalker stepped out of the dark behind the two mercenaries, her crossbows out and raised, but not pointing at anything in particular.

“Shadow Stalker,” said Chevalier. “I thought you were on the other side of town?”

“I was,” said Shadow Stalker. “I came back.”

“You’re a spooky one, aren’t you?” said Tattletale. Her voice sounded calm and smooth, but there was a faint shudder that she wasn’t hiding perfectly.

“Thanks,” said Shadow Stalker, pushing past the mercenaries without looking at them. “Coil has a Ring of Power. If Annatar’s working with him, that means she’s willing to use her Rings to control people.”

Narwhal’s eyes widened. “Then that means—”

“It means I’m working on borrowed time,” said Shadow Stalker grimly. “But it also means we’ve got a target.”

“We can help,” said Circus immediately. Tattletale elbowed her.

“What Circus _means_ ,” she said, “is that we can tell you a lot about Coil, his powers, and the capes working for him. _We_ are leaving town. Faultline’s pulling out. Annatar’s too dangerous, and she has a business to look after.”

“Then talk,” said Shadow Stalker flatly, turning back to the mercenaries from her spot in the middle of the alley. “What does Coil have?”

“His power lets him split reality into two timelines,” Tattletale explained. “He does one thing in one, and another thing in the other. He likes to pass it off as “probability control” by doing a trick with a coin flip.”

Shadow Stalker nodded. “Hell of a power,” she said, almost sounding appreciative. “Who else has he got?”

“The Travelers are working for him, but you knew that,” said Tattletale. “Do you know their roster?”

Shadow Stalker shook her head. “We’re familiar with Trickster,” she said, almost spitting the name out. “And we know the names of the others—Sundancer, Genesis, and Ballistic. We know the basics of their powers, but not too many specifics.”

“I’m not an encyclopedia,” said Tattletale, “but I can tell you you’re wrong about Genesis. She’s a master, not a changer. Her shapes are projections.”

Shadow Stalker nodded. “Right. We’ll look for the controller.”

“I can give you a better idea,” Tattletale said. “The team is in shambles right now. Trickster is the leader, but he’s lost his mind. Trying to split them might work.” She sighed. “I wish I knew more, but all of this is secondhand. There’s another member of their team, and they’re only in the Bay because Coil promised to help her.”

Shadow Stalker was silent for a moment. “There are worse reasons to work for someone like that,” she said at last. Her voice was muted and a little sad.

Tattletale twitched. “Sure, fine,” she said, and there was an edge to her voice. “There’s also Bitch, my old teammate. You know her?”

“Dog master. Yeah. She works for him?”

“Never stopped. The Undersiders were on his payroll.”

Shadow Stalker cocked her head. “Then why are you here?”

“I never even _wanted_ to work for him,” said Tattletale coldly. “The bastard put a gun to my head. I hope you can take him out.”

Shadow Stalker didn’t respond for a moment, and when she did, all she said was “Is that all he has?”

“Nope. There’s also a preteen precog who he kidnapped and keeps drugged in his basement.” Tattletale’s smile became a little brittle. “I _wish_ I was joking.”

“And you worked for this guy?” Shadow Stalker asked.

“In my defense,” said Tattletale, “he didn’t have her then.”

“I left when he took her,” Circus volunteered.

“Right,” said Shadow Stalker. Narwhal could practically hear her eyes rolling. “Anything else?”

“No more capes,” Tattletale replied. “Coil’s got a bunch of trained mercenaries, though. Ex-military from around the world. Who knows?” She quirked her lips in Narwhal’s direction. “He might have someone you know.”

Narwhal’s hands clenched into fists, and forcefields spawned like blades in the air around her. “What do you—”

“No,” Shadow Stalker interrupted, turning back towards the heroes. Her voice was hard. “Tattletale gets off on driving people up the wall. Just ignore her. She’s a thinker—it doesn’t mean she knows your identity.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t, either, Hess!” Tattletale said, smug satisfaction dripping like syrup from her voice.

Shadow Stalker glanced back. “I’m really pent-up right now, Tattletale,” she said grimly. “You want to see what’ll happen if you keep winding me up?”

Tattletale smiled sweetly. “Nah. That was all I had. Tell the new guy I said hi?”

“No. Later.” Shadow Stalker turned and walked over to Chevalier and Narwhal. “Sorry about her,” she said dryly. “I think she likes to feel important.”

“You know her?” Chevalier asked.

“We’ve fought a couple times,” said the former Ward with a shrug. “She tried to pick a thinker fight with Annatar once, while I was there. It didn’t go well. She’s bitter.” She sighed. “Let’s get back to base. We need to talk about this.”

Once she thought they were safely out of earshot, Narwhal spoke up. “So, you think we should go after Coil?”

Shadow Stalker nodded. “He’s one of the worst things in the Bay, and she won’t go after him while he works for her,” she said. “That means we have to pick up the slack.”

“Tattletale mentioned a new guy,” Chevalier said. “What was she talking about?”

Shadow Stalker looked up at the sky. “Huh, what do you know?” she said. “He actually left. I got a recruit; he’s waiting for us at base.”

“Who?” Narwhal asked.

“Shielder,” Shadow Stalker replied. “One of New Wave, Lady Photon’s son.”

They reached the door and Shadow Stalker led them into the warehouse.

There was a young man inside. He wore a white costume with blue highlights, and a blue visor. “Oh, good, you’re back,” he said, his relief audible. “What happened?”

“Tattletale wanted to give us some intel,” said Shadow Stalker, walking past him. “Come on, we all need to talk. That includes Armsmaster.”

The Tinker was still hunched over his computer when they reached him. “Colin,” Sophia said. “You got a minute?”

Armsmaster stood up and stretched. “Sure,” he said, turning to her. “What’s going on?” He saw Shielder. “New recruit?”

Shielder nodded. “I—yeah.”

“What brought you here?”

Shielder looked down. “It’s… a long story,” he said quietly.

“And we don’t need to know,” said Shadow Stalker firmly. “You’re welcome here as long as you’re willing to try to be a hero. Just do your best.”

Shielder nodded firmly. “Yeah. That’s the plan.”

“Good,” said Chevalier. “Now, Colin, we heard from Tattletale that Coil is working for Annatar now.”

Colin grimaced. “Great,” he said. “Fantastic. He has Narya, doesn’t he?”

“Probably,” Shadow Stalker said. “Which may make me a liability, in the long run. I’m sure she has a way to turn it against me like she turned Narya against Coil, and in her state of mind, I think she’d use it.”

“No, not a liability,” said Armsmaster firmly. “But we’ll need to be careful, going forward. If necessary, you may have to take off your Ring. Possibly permanently.”

Shadow Stalker looked down at her hands, rubbing her fingers together nervously. “I know,” she murmured. “I treasure this Ring. I treasure everything Annatar gave me. But if I have to let it go, I will.”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t become necessary,” Armsmaster said, almost gently. “What’s our plan now?”

Shadow Stalker looked back up at him. “We have to get to work. Annatar’s only getting more powerful. Coil’s a problem, but he’s also an opportunity. We can hit him _hard_. He’s not a hero by _any_ definition.”

“And that’ll weaken Annatar,” said Shielder. “It’s a start.”

 Narwhal nodded. “Breaking down Annatar’s power base will be a big step towards taking back the city.” _And Dragon,_ she added privately.

“Taking back the city?” Shadow Stalker’s voice was odd—there was a warning hint to her voice. “What do you think we’re doing here, Narwhal?”

Narwhal frowned at the girl. “…Fighting back against Annatar? Trying to free Dragon and the others from her?”

Shadow Stalker watched her for a moment before turning away and walking away from the group. She pulled off her mask and set it gently on Armsmaster’s workbench.

“If we try to fight Annatar directly,” she said quietly, “we won’t win.”

“If we take out Coil first—” Narwhal began, but Shadow Stalker interrupted.

“Then she’ll still have Dragon, Alexandria, and the Chief Director of the PRT. And the entire local PRT and Protectorate.” She turned back. Her green eyes glittered. She was smiling. “That’s okay. We don’t _want_ to take her down. We don’t _want_ to kill or imprison her.”

“Why _not_?” The words escaped Narwhal’s mouth unbidden as an angry growl. “After everything she’s done? After Dragon?”

“Because she's a hero,” said Shadow Stalker, her voice clear and confident. “They're all heroes. Killing or jailing even one of them would be a tragedy. If we lose all of them? There won't be much left standing after a fight like that, and there won’t be anyone left to pick up the pieces. We can't afford to lose them. We _have_ to save them. To bring them back.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” asked Shielder. He sounded frustrated, tired. “We can’t afford to fight her, but what do we do instead? Coil’s a start, but he’s _only_ a start. That’s not a whole plan.”

“No.” Shadow Stalker smiled. It wasn’t a hard expression, stiff with determination. “Of course we'll fight. We _will_ stop her. But we're not fighting people who are evil, we’re fighting people who are _wrong_. They’ve bought into an ideal, and it’s led them astray.” Her expression turned sheepish. “I was there, not so long ago. Annatar pulled me back. I _know_ she knew better once. But now she’s fallen herself.”

Narwhal gritted her teeth. The name on Shadow Stalker’s lips was _Annatar_ , but she couldn’t help mentally replacing it with _Dragon_.

“That ideal is that the strong can rule over the weak. That killing the enemy is a victory and not a loss, and that justice comes when the good guys are stronger." The anger in her voice mixed with a deep, cold sadness. "And that's why _we_ can't fall to that ideal, too. It's why we have to stay heroes. Because if we fall too... we'd lose, sure, but it wouldn't matter even if we'd win.”

“We can’t win this with ideals alone,” said Chevalier quietly. “I agree with you, Shadow Stalker. I do. But we need more than ideals to get through this.”

“We have more than ideals,” said Shadow Stalker. “We can _live_ those ideals. That’s a lot more. Annatar’s doing things she knows are wrong, and she’s doing it because she feels she has to. What we need to do is show her that she doesn’t.”

“So we’re just… hoping that she’ll realize she’s lost her mind?” Narwhal asked. “Doesn’t sound like a great plan.”

“Do you have a better one?” Armsmaster asked suddenly. She turned to him. His jaw was set. “Do you have a better way to help these people we care about?”

Narwhal gritted her teeth. “If we kill Annatar—”

“Not an option,” said Shadow Stalker flatly.

“Agreed,” said Armsmaster, nodding at her. “Sorry, Narwhal. Even if we had a chance at winning that, it would be _wrong_. We’re supposed to be heroes.”

“She’s a warlord,” Narwhal stressed. “I know warlords. She may have started as a good person, but you don’t hold this kind of power for long before it goes to your head.”

“Annatar had this kind of power as long as I knew her,” Shadow Stalker said quietly. “The only reason I didn’t see that sooner is because she wasn’t that kind of person. She’s not in this for the power, Narwhal. She’s like Dragon—she’s doing this because she’s hurting and desperate.”

 _She’s like Dragon._ Narwhal looked away.

“Please,” Armsmaster said. “Trust us.”

Narwhal swallowed and looked back at her allies. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll do it your way. What’s our plan for Coil?”

Shadow Stalker smiled. “Here’s where it gets fun.”


	88. Glory 10.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill, @Assembler, ShadowStepper1300, and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

“How goes the patrol?” Dragon’s voice, coming unexpectedly through my earpiece, broke the night’s silence.

I smiled. The interruption was a welcome reprieve from monotony. “Well enough. How are things at base?”

“Boring,” she complained, but I could hear the smile in her voice. “I didn’t understand why you were bothering to go out on your own, but I think I get it now. Nothing happens here.”

“Nothing’s happening out here, either,” I admitted, looking around the dark, deserted street.

“No sign of Lung?”

“None. Are you sure he hasn’t left the city?”

“I’m not sure of anything,” Dragon admitted. “All I know is that Vilya doesn’t seem to think he’ll be showing his face in the near future, and that I didn’t spot him leaving. My best guess is that he’s laying low.”

“ _Really_ low,” I mumbled, looking over at a restaurant’s sign. Japanese, by the characters, but I couldn’t read it. The wall beside one of the windows had been tagged with graffiti in the shape of a familiar red eye. “I’m walking around in the heart of his territory, alone. Not even trying to be stealthy. And yet—not a peep.”

“He’s scared,” said Dragon. There was a vicious satisfaction in her words. “And he should be. You’re the one in charge now.”

I grinned as I stepped into an alleyway. “And I won’t let him forget it anytime soon.”

“So, what now?” Dragon asked. “He’s not going to come out on his own. Do we flush him out, or focus on something else, since he’s not really being a problem?”

I drummed a rhythm on the leg of my armor as I passed by a dumpster. “Not sure,” I said. “I think—” I stopped. Turned.

There was a man huddled there, crouched behind a dumpster, staring at me in horror. A knife fell from his nerveless fingers with a clatter.

“Annatar?” Dragon asked.

“Sorry, give me a minute,” I said, taking a step towards the would-be mugger. He tried to scramble away, but I was quicker. My hand was out in a moment, gripping his throat and squeezing. He choked momentarily before I loosened my grip enough to allow him air. I pulled, lifting his limp body up so that his face was level with my own. My nose wrinkled involuntarily at the stench of sweat, alcohol, and what was probably meth.

“Please,” he gasped, his cracked fingernails scrabbling at my gauntlets. “Please, I didn’t know it was you! I’m sorry, I won’t, I’ll stay away from here—”

“Are you with Lung?” I interrupted.

“I—yes!” he shouted, still struggling in my grip. “I was! But the ABB hasn’t been active for two weeks now! I’m just trying to—”

“I get it.”

He fell mostly silent, but a few terrified whimpers still escaped him.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Jared,” he whispered, his eyes rolling frantically in his head. “Jared Huang. Please, Annatar! I didn’t mean—”

“Hush, Jared,” I said, giving a warning squeeze to his throat. He let out a pained squeak and fell silent. “I’m feeling generous,” I said, my voice silken. “So, as a gift from me to you, I’m going to let you live.”

“Oh, thank you,” he breathed weakly. “Thank you, thank—”

“But, Jared,” I interrupted, “this is your one chance. I don’t tolerate people like you on my streets. Clean up, shape up, and don’t make me catch you like this again.”

“I won’t!” he gasped. “I won’t, I swear! I’ll—”

“I never forget a face, Jared.” That brought him up short. “I never forget, and I’ll _know_ , Jared. And I will be _very_ annoyed that you wasted my gift.”

He swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed against my finger. “I’ll—I’ll stop,” he whispered. “I’ll figure something out, get a job if I can, leave the city if I can’t. You won’t see me out here again.”

“See that I don’t,” I said, and dropped him. The moment his hands and feet hit the ground he was skittering away, an animal bounding on all fours. I didn’t stay to watch him go; I was already turning and continuing to walk. “Dragon? Sorry, caught a mugger.”

“I heard,” she said, sounding amused. “You’d think they’d have learned by now.”

“They have, for the most part,” I said. Crime rates were at an all-time low in Brockton Bay, although given how high they usually were, that wasn’t all that impressive. “But some people learn more slowly.”

“Well, that man sounded like he’s learned his lesson, at least.”

“I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again,” I agreed. “And he confirmed what we guessed. The ABB’s basically disbanded.”

“The rank and file, at least. We should go after Lung eventually, but I guess it’s not urgent.”

“My thoughts exactly.” I turned and began walking south. “I’m on my way back. We should talk about our plans.”

“Want me to call Piggot?”

“No need. Let her sleep. We can talk to her in the morning.”

* * *

 

“Where are you?” I asked into my earpiece as I entered the PRT building’s lobby.

“I’m in the lounge,” Dragon said. “I’ve got something to show you. Just finished it today.”

“All right, I’m on my way.” I passed through the security gate and took the elevator down.

When I emerged, Dragon was standing in the middle of the room. I only recognized her by the Ring on her finger and the faint singing of her _Fëa_. She looked almost totally human, with lightly tanned skin and brown hair. She was a little shorter than me, and wore a yellow blouse over blue jeans. But her nature showed itself through her eyes, electric blue and glowing faintly.

She smiled nervously at me as I stepped out of the elevator. “Hey, Annatar.”

I grinned back. “Dragon, I love the new look. Congratulations.”

She visibly relaxed. “Thanks. I was already working on this before, but I could never use it.” She grimaced. “I wasn’t allowed to try to blend in.”

I crossed the room and hugged her. “That part of your life is over,” I said gently. “You can be whoever you want to be now.”

She hugged me back. “And I owe you everything for that, Annatar. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. You earned this.” I pulled away. “Speaking of new looks, I’ve been thinking of trying out a few things.”

She raised an eyebrow. That action derailed her for a moment, and she stared up at her own eyebrow for a second before blinking and looking back at me. “Oh? With your shapeshifting?”

I nodded, closing my eyes and letting the image in my mind’s eye take hold of me. I hummed low, then began to Sing wordlessly, allowing my will to take shape in the world. I felt my ears, already slightly pointed, elongating to a proper taper. My height increased a couple more inches, my cheekbones rose slightly. My hair took on a faint luster.

By the end, I was the spitting image of one of the Eldar. They may have been my enemies for much of their history, but that didn’t mean they weren’t worthy of respect.

My eyes opened. Dragon was staring up at me, her eyes wide. “Wow,” she said, a touch breathless.

“Do I still look recognizable?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “But—well. You don’t exactly look _human_.”

I smiled as I took her hand, and we sank into the couch side-by-side. “That,” I told her, putting my feet up on the coffee table, “is nothing to be ashamed of.”

She flushed red and looked away. “Thanks,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “Um. Want something to drink?”

“Please. Hot chocolate?”

“Sure.” Her hand wriggled shyly out of mine as she stood back up. I watched her move towards the hot water tap without looking at me, and couldn’t help the upward twitch of my lips. She was adorable.

Still, we were due for a change of subject. “Where is everyone?”

“Mostly in bed,” she said. I could hear the hint of gratitude in her voice for the escape. “Panacea’s in the gym, and Triumph and Miss Militia are on patrol.”

“Triumph’s doing well, then?”

“For the most part,” Dragon replied over the sound of pouring water. “He’s having trouble sleeping, I think. He’s been talking to Assault about it, though.”

“Good,” I said. “They both need someone to talk to. How’s Battery?”

“Still not really talking to anyone,” said Dragon, and there was a grim edge to her voice. “Besides her therapist, I mean. She’s starting to open up to Assault again, though.”

“That’s a relief,” I said. “Hopefully she’ll recover in good time.” I shook my head. “Enough brooding. Let’s talk plans.”

“Sure.” Dragon stirred the chocolate mix into my cup. “Lung’s gone underground. What about the Empire?”

“We haven’t heard from them in a while, either,” I said. “Not since Heartbreaker.”

“True, but they have Oracle,” said Dragon. “Didn’t you say she mastered Shadow Stalker? And Armsmaster?”

I looked at her. “Dragon.” My voice was thick with dry amusement.

She chuckled. “I know. Still, though, she was _involved_ in Shadow Stalker leaving, right? Even if she clearly isn’t a master.”

“I certainly wouldn’t be surprised if she planted the seeds in Shadow Stalker’s head,” I acknowledged. “But she’s responsible for her own decisions… and she’ll come around, eventually. She’s reveling in newfound idealism, is all.”

“The group she and Armsmaster are building is getting significant,” Dragon cautioned. “Narwhal and Chevalier have both joined them. And Shielder, from New Wave.”

“Shielder? Really?” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll talk to Clockblocker, see if I can figure out what might have caused that.”

“That’s not really the point, is it?” Dragon asked, coming over and sitting beside me, handing me a steaming paper cup. “Shadow Stalker and Armsmaster have international heroes on their side now. Chevalier and Narwhal aren’t exactly weaklings, but more importantly, they have the media’s ear. If they fight you openly—”

“They’ll lose,” I said with a shrug. “I mean, really? We have Alexandria. We have _Cauldron_.”

“Yeah, but we don’t want to be seen fighting them until we’ve dealt with their reputations,” Dragon said, flipping her hair over one shoulder as she leaned back into the couch. “There shouldn’t be _any_ contest when it comes to your public support. You’ve brought crime down, you’ve shut down two international villains and sent more running, you’ve got the PRT and Protectorate running like a well-oiled machine here.”

“Feel free to keep singing my praises,” I said, grinning at her and sipping at my drink. “You know I love it.”

She snorted, an amused quirk touching her lips. “My _point_ ,” she said, “is that the metrics aren’t enough if you don’t have good PR. Right now you’ve got a lot of people on your side, but a lot of bleeding hearts are still on the fence. You need to win those over unless you want things to get really messy at some point down the line.”

“Okay,” I said, bringing my hands together around the warm cup. “What do you suggest?”

“Easiest option is just running a smear campaign. Publish the truth about what Shadow Stalker did to you in Winslow. Get testimonies about Armsmaster from his co-workers—take it from me, sometimes he was really hard to get along with.”

I studied her for a moment. She wasn’t looking at me, instead idly rubbing her fingers together in apparent fascination. “You cared for him,” I said.

She didn’t answer for a moment. “I did,” she admitted. “I guess I still do. He was— _is_ —a bit of a mess, but he’s a good man. I always thought he respected me as a person, you know? Not just as a hero it was useful to be allies with. He’d ask me for input on his tinkertech.” She smiled slightly, still not looking at me. “He didn’t do that for anyone else.”

“You were important to him.”

She sneered, and seemed for a moment almost surprised that her own lip had curled. “Not _that_ important, clearly,” she said. “He didn’t even tell me he was leaving.”

“You said it yourself—he’s a bit of a mess.” I reached out and put an arm around her. “He’ll come around. Might take a while, but we’ll show him. He’ll be back.”

She leaned slightly into my embrace. “Maybe. I don’t know if I want him back, though. I don’t know if I can trust him again.”

“Trust isn’t an easy thing,” I said. “You certainly don’t need to force it.”

She smiled at me. “Thanks, Annatar.”

“I’d rather let you break things off on your terms, though,” I said. “That’ll be hard if we run a smear campaign against him. Besides, it doesn’t really sound like our style. It’s a bit _backseat_ , you know? I’d rather be more active.”

She grinned, her white teeth flashing. “You read my mind,” she said.

“Then you have another idea?”

Dragon nodded. “The obvious alternative is to outdo them on their own terms,” she said. “If they want to take this to a larger scale, well, be the better hero on that scale, too.”

“How so?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “We’ve already taken out two national villains. What more do we need?”

“You took out villains who came to you,” Dragon said. “What if you took the fight to the villains?”

My eyes narrowed thoughtfully as I took another sip of my hot chocolate. “You’re suggesting we go after an international target. Someone the whole world wants dead, and no one’s managed to kill yet.”

Dragon nodded. “No one could really question you then,” she said. “You’re bringing order to the whole _world_ , not just your little slice of it. Anyone who questions you is just whining.”

A slow smile was spreading across my face. “Mm. Yes. I’m starting to like this plan.”

“I thought you might. Do you already have a target in mind? The Slaughterhouse Nine—”

“No, no,” I said. “No, I have a better idea. Better to hit two birds with one stone.”

She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” I said, thinking through things as I spoke, “Piggot’s never been totally on-board with me, right? Just because I’m a quote-unquote ‘parahuman,’ and she has her hangups. She hasn’t got a problem with my methods, but it’s hard for her to really trust me. Right?”

“Right,” Dragon agreed slowly. “But what’s your…” She trailed off, staring at me. “Wait…”

“Piggot used to command PRT troopers in the field, right?” I asked. “And she was injured in the line of duty. That’s why she needs dialysis.”

“Yes,” Dragon said. There was a note of awe in her voice. “You’re not seriously…”

“Two birds with one stone,” I said. My smile was practically splitting my face now. “Which villain was she fighting?”

“Nilbog,” Dragon said. “You know him?”

I nodded. “Conquered Ellisburg, still holds it under quarantine, right?”

She nodded. “Yes. If you could really take him out…”

“I’d win a massive PR boost, _and_ secure Piggot’s loyalty in one fell swoop,” I finished for her.

Dragon laughed. “I love parallelizing,” she said. “Oh—it gets better. Piggot was one of only two members of her PRT force to survive. Guess who the other was?”

I blinked. “I have no idea.”

“Thomas Calvert.”

I stared at her for a moment, and then I started to laugh. After a moment, she joined me.

“Oh, my,” I spluttered. “Does she even know he’s still in town?”

“Probably,” Dragon said. “He does side work as a PRT consultant. Never for her, though. I imagine there’s a story there.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I said. “I’ll have to ask him about it, the next time I see him.”

“In the meantime, though, we should plan an assault on Ellisburg,” said Dragon. “Do you want to bring everyone for this?”

I shook my head. “No. In fact, I think it’s best if we keep most of the team here and set them to root out Shadow Stalker and Armsmaster’s little rebellion while we work. If we can shut down the core of the opposition while the world is distracted by our operation in Ellisburg, that will be ideal.”

Dragon nodded. “Makes sense. Panacea should have no trouble finding them with Nenya. We can leave her here, and I’ll come with you to Ellisburg. Who else do you want to bring?”

“Piggot, of course,” I said. “Beyond that… I don’t know. We’ll take volunteers, I suppose. We can probably plan around any group.”

“All right. So we’ll talk to them tomorrow?”

“I suppose we will.” I glanced at the wall clock. About two in the morning. “Still a few hours before then.”

“You sure you don’t want to wake Piggot up?”

“There’s no real need,” I said. “There’s no rush.” I smiled at Dragon. “How about we head down to the forge and tinker for a few hours?”

She smiled back—a quick, almost nervous thing. “I’d like that.”


	89. Interlude 10c

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @GlassGirlCeci, @themanwhowas, @Assembler, ShadowStepper1300, and @BeaconHill for betareading.

“I’m not a kid any more, Mom!” Crystal’s voice echoed down the hall. Eric tried to ignore it.

“While you live under this roof, you’re still in my care,” said Mom. She spoke loudly and firmly, but didn’t shout.

Crystal was less restrained. “I’m almost twenty!” She sounded furious; Eric hadn’t heard her lose her cool like this in years. “You can’t ground me like I’m still in middle school!”

“I’m not grounding you,” said their mother. “I’m not even _punishing_ you, Crystal. If you would listen—”

“ _You’re_ not listening!” Crystal screamed. “Dennis is wonderful! I thought you liked him! Why are you suddenly being like this?”

“I _do_ like Dennis,” said Mom. “But, right now, I don’t trust him. It’s nothing personal. I don’t trust anyone in the Protectorate right now.”

“Really, Mom? Really? You’re forbidding me from dating a guy because of _politics_?”

“You think this is about politics?” _And now_ she’s _mad._ Eric turned up the music in his headphones, but it wasn’t enough. Every word still came through with perfect clarity. “People are _dead_ , Crystal!”

“ _Criminals_ are dead! Yeah, that’s the idea! Annatar’s being a hero, cleaning up the city!”

“So theft, drug dealing, and extortion are crimes people deserve to _die_ over? Listen to yourself, Crystal!”

“People don’t commit crimes when they’re this scared of the consequences!”

“Forgive me if I don’t want my children living in a city running on _fear_!”

 _I can’t listen to this anymore._ Eric ripped his headset off, opened his window, and flew out into the night.

The house had been like this for days. It had come to a head today, with Mom’s decision to forbid Crystal from bringing Dennis over (she wasn’t even forbidding her from dating the guy, just from bringing him home, which was fine by Eric). But it had been building for a while, ever since Dragon’s little announcement on the TV and the start of the PRT’s unspoken crusade against crime.

His sneakers tapped gently against the roof of a nearby apartment building. The moon was full overhead, bathing the whole city in a silvery glow. The sea twinkled in the distance, barely visible between the buildings to the north.

Eric sat down, his legs dangling and swinging over the edge of the building. _It’d be so much easier if I knew how I felt about all this,_ he thought.

He agreed with Mom. Not every criminal deserved to _die_. Annatar was brutal, and it was scary to live in a city run like that. He remembered the first time he’d seen the news after she’d gotten involved in a crime in progress. The guy had been robbing a store at gunpoint. He’d left the place in a body bag.

Eric swallowed. He knew kids who had shoplifted before. Were they next? What about his friend Jason, who sometimes smoked and sold weed on the side?

_Where did it stop?_

Holding a store up at gunpoint was _wrong_. So was shoplifting. But not everyone who did something wrong was a bad person, and not every bad person deserved to die.

But Annatar had also saved him. She’d pulled him out of a coma, saved him from being a vegetable for the rest of his life. He couldn’t forget that. He couldn’t _ignore_ that.

 _What kind of ungrateful little asshole am I? I’m calling out the girl who saved my life when even_ Amy _couldn’t, just because I’m scared of her!_

He sighed, looking down at the street below. No cars drove at this time of night, now. Just a couple months ago, this street would have been busy with travelers, people coming home after late shifts or going out for a night on the town.

That was before Bakuda. Before Leviathan. It was starting to feel like the world had it out for this city.

“Hey, kid.”

Shielder startled and slipped off of the edge of the roof.

“Whoa, caref—”

The person caught him by the wrist, but he was already rising in the air, turning to face her. He blinked. “Shadow Stalker?”

She stared up at him. “Oh. Fuck, you’re Shielder. Didn’t recognize you.”

“What are you doing here?”

She let go of his wrist and stepped away. “I saw a kid sitting at the edge of a roof looking depressed,” she said dryly. “Thought you might need help.”

Shielder studied her. “Weren’t you mastered or something?”

She looked away. “I heard Annatar was spreading that around,” she said. Her voice was low. “No. I left because she was becoming the thing she was supposed to fight, and was pulling everyone down with her.”

He looked away. “She saved my life.”

“Yeah. Mine too.” The masked cape sounded distant, as though she was speaking to him from a long way off.

“Armsmaster wasn’t mastered either, then?”

She shook her head. “No. We’ve been working together. We’re trying to help however we can.”

Shielder blinked at her. “What, like an underground rebellion?”

“Sort of?” Shadow Stalker shrugged. “I don’t know if we’re _rebels_. We just… we’re trying to be _heroes_. Right now, Annatar isn’t doing that, and she’s leading the Protectorate and Wards down the same way. Brockton Bay needs some good guys.”

“…There’s New Wave.”

Shadow Stalker let out a soft bark of laughter. “Yeah, I guess there is. You guys keep it up. Maybe one day Annatar will snap out of it.” She sounded wistful, lost.

Shielder was a hero. His parents had groomed him for it from the beginning. The moment he’d gotten powers, that had been where his life was going to go. He’d been _asked_ , yeah, but there wasn’t really much choice, with a family of public superheroes and a trigger that hadn’t been easy to hide.

But that was okay, because he wasn’t just a hero out of a sense of duty. He was a hero because there was nothing in the world he would rather be. People were important, and helping them when they needed it was more fulfilling than anything else he could imagine doing.

And Shadow Stalker needed help. She was practically crying out for it, in the weariness in her voice, the slump of her shoulders, and the bend of her back, as though she was stumbling under a great load. And yet, she’d come up here because a kid had been on the edge of the rooftop.

“You think Annatar might snap out of it?” Shielder asked. He held to that thought like a lifeline. “All of this… it isn’t really _her_?”

“It’s _definitely_ not her,” Shadow Stalker said, and there was a fire in her voice now, a determination and a certainty. “I _know_ Taylor. She’s my best friend.”

Shielder glanced north at the outline of the Rig, rising high over the Bay. “Okay,” he said. “That’s a relief.”

“How so?”

“I’ve been…” he hesitated. “She saved my life. How was I supposed to… to go against her after that? I didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s not easy,” Shadow Stalker agreed. “I know. She’s a hero. They’re _all_ heroes. But they’ve lost their way.”

“And you think we can help them?”

“I hope so. Us and New Wave? We’ve got a chance.”

Shielder grimaced. “New Wave isn’t… in a good place right now,” he admitted. “Mom and Crystal are fighting, my aunt and uncle aren’t talking… it’s a mess.”

Shadow Stalker sighed. “Damn. Well. Good luck—”

“Can I join you guys?”

She stared at him. “You sure?” she asked. “We’re basically fugitives, kid. We’re trying to do the right thing, and we’re being hunted for it.”

He nodded. “I’m a hero,” he said. “That’s not about being popular or being well-liked, it’s about doing the right thing. No matter how hard that is.”

She stared at him. “You know,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I kinda wish I’d known you a few years ago.”

He blinked at her. “I mean, you sort of did? We’ve worked together before.”

“I guess. I just… wasn’t listening, then.” She turned away. “All right. Follow me. We’ll need to keep kind of low.”

“That’s fine. Lead the way.”

* * *

 

_Several days later_

Shielder glanced over as the door opened. Sophia slipped inside, shutting it behind her. She took off her mask and stuck it under her arm, giving him a nod. “Eric. Anything happen while I was out?”

“Not really,” he said. “Chevalier went out to grab groceries.”

She nodded. “Great. How long ago did he leave?”

“Not that long. Ten minutes or so?”

“Then he’ll be a while. That’s fine.” She strode into the building, her fingers drumming idly on the hilt of her sword.

“Anything happen out there?” he asked, falling into step beside her.

“Not much,” she said, leading him towards their makeshift kitchen. “Caught a drug dealer. Former Merchant, I think. Dropped him off at the police station.”

“Brave or stupid, you think?” he asked. “It’s gotta be one or the other, if he’s still going with Annatar in control.”

“Stupid, definitely,” Sophia chuckled. “You should’ve seen this guy. He was a piece of work.” She reached into a cabinet and started rummaging. “I could use some tea. Want some?”

“Sure, thanks.”

She pulled out two mugs and set them on the counter before reaching for the kettle. “It’s getting harder,” she said quietly as it filled with water. “Harder to stay motivated, to feel like we have a chance. She hasn’t given any sign she’s even _noticed_ us.”

“That might be a good thing,” Eric murmured. “At least she’s not hunting us down.”

“At least then I’d feel like we were contributing something,” Sophia sighed. “As it is, I just feel… useless. Like all of this”—she gestured around the warehouse—“was for nothing. I—”

Then the wall to their right exploded inward, showering them with debris. Shielder had thrown up a barrier in a moment, blocking the worst of it. Shadow Stalker’s mask was on her face when he looked back at her, and her sword was out and shimmering.

“Time to eat my words,” she said, and there was a hard, almost triumphant edge to her voice. “Come on!”

They charged together towards the cloud of dust, but before they’d taken more than a couple steps something scythed out of the mist and swung down towards them like a crystalline blade. Shielder barely caught it on a barrier. He winced as it pressed against him, trying to force its way past the shield.

Shadow Stalker was staring at the thing, her shoulders tense. It looked like a spider’s leg, cast in polished, shimmering crystal.

“What is this thing?” Shielder asked.

She didn’t answer. After a moment, the leg retracted back into the mist. There was a rushing sound, and it scattered, as if disturbed by a strong wind.

Shielder swallowed. “Panacea.”

Amy stood there. Her costume had changed. Before, her robes had covered most of her skin, leaving only a pale face and hands emerging. Now, it was almost skimpy. She wore a backless, armless dress, still red and white but almost as short as Victoria’s, with slits that went up past her thighs. A nurse’s cap sat jauntily atop her head, like the punch line of a wicked joke about the girl she used to be.

She was smiling, and there was something hard and cold in her eyes. “Hey, Eric. Stalker.”

“Panacea,” Shadow Stalker said. “Annatar sent you?”

“The boss herself.” Amy cracked her neck casually. “I don’t suppose you’d like to surrender?”

“No.” Armsmaster emerged from behind a tall shelving unit. In one hand he held a halberd, and in the other was a tinkertech gun. “We wouldn’t.”

“Good.” Amy smiled wider, then arched her back. From behind her, more of those spider limbs emerged, as though protruding from her spine. They grew out and touched down to the floor, forming a cage around her. Then they flexed, lifting her feet up off the ground. Her fingers splayed out, stretching, reaching. “I could really use a chance to cut loose.”

“You’re outnumbered,” said Armsmaster coldly. “I imagine you’ve been training, Panacea, but you don’t have the same combat experience as the rest of us. Please, don’t—”

Four spiderlegs shot out towards him as one. He dodged and swung with his halberd, but it bounced off the crystal, barely leaving a mark. “Don’t embarrass yourself,” said Amy, a toothy grin on her face. “I—”

A barrier suddenly appeared, separating Amy from the three. It shimmered purple, distorting Shielder’s cousin’s face into a rictus. Narwhal sank from above until she was beside her comrades.

“This is four against one,” she said. “I don’t know how powerful you are, but those aren’t good odds.”

“I know,” Amy groaned, as though Narwhal had complained about the quality of a film. “I was really hoping Chevalier would be here too. Then I might actually have some fun.”

“What happened to you, Amy?” Shielder asked, staring at his cousin. “This isn’t you.”

Her smile dropped. She met his eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong, coz,” she said coldly. “This is me when I finally cut loose.”

And then there were spiderlegs everywhere. They broke through Narwhal’s barrier with a resounding crash, and then Shielder was rolling and throwing up desperate shields in every direction—shields that broke after only a couple blows.

He’d held Bakuda’s explosion at bay and kept his team alive. He’d held back Leviathan’s tidal waves alongside other heroes. Never once had he imagined that he’d be comparing a battle with an Endbringer to fighting _Amy_.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Armsmaster get shoved into a wall, hacking at the spider’s limbs as he went, before being pinned there by three of them. The concrete wall cracked around him.

Narwhal was flying in intricate loops and spins, avoiding the waving limbs trying to swat her out of the air.

Shielder kept low, trying to split Amy’s attention, rolling this way and flipping that, throwing up shields wherever he could, just trying to distract, to draw her out, to make it as hard for her to beat him as he could.

Then Shadow Stalker was in front of him, and her sword was burning bright in the dark, drowning out the stars and moon above as she sliced cleanly through a spiderleg. Amy screamed, whether in rage or pain he didn’t know, and a swarm of the things converged on Shadow Stalker. But she was already gone, flickering into a wisp of shadowy smoke and darting to another angle, making her way towards Amy at the center of the mass of crystalline limbs.

The attack on Shielder and the others eased up. Armsmaster was still pinned, and he and Narwhal still couldn’t get any closer to Amy, but all of his cousin’s focus was now on Shadow Stalker and her sword. Blow after blow connected with the ground under the cowled hero, or with the walls behind her, but she dodged every strike, phasing into and out of shadow at a moment’s notice.

And yet it wasn’t enough. No matter how gracefully she wove between blows, Shadow Stalker could gain no ground against the other Ward. Nor could the others, despite the lessened attack on them; any forcefield Narwhal launched at Amy was batted aside.

After about half a minute of this, Shadow Stalker darted to Armsmaster’s side and sliced through the limbs holding him in place. He fell to the ground, landing on his feet, his halberd at the ready. “What’s the plan?” he shouted, his voice hoarse.

“I suggest giving up!” Amy hissed, striking out with another barrage.

There was a moment of no conversation as they all scattered to avoid the attack, and then Shielder heard Shadow Stalker screaming. “Run!”

He froze for a fraction of a second, staring over at her, before he had to block another attack. “What?”

She looked over at him, a sourceless green light flickering over her mask and reflecting off the blade of her sword. “We can’t beat her!” she called. “Get out of here—I’ll hold her off!”

Amy tsked. “Hold me off?” she asked. “I’d like to see that.” She redoubled her assault. The forest of crystalline limbs became a jungle. Shielder’s body was screaming for rest, and his shields were breaking faster and faster.

“Move!” Armsmaster called. “Narwhal, get going! Meet at the rendezvous!”

“I’m not leaving anyone behind!” Narwhal hollered, throwing lance after lance of folded light at Amy, but she just laughed and blocked them all.

“You don’t have a choice!” Shadow Stalker hollered. “Get out of here while you can!”

Narwhal hesitated for an instant, and then flew off into the night sky, her forcefields twinking in the distance for a moment before she went behind a building and out of sight. Armsmaster was already running, using jets on his suit to dodge out of the way of pursuing attacks.

It was just him and Shadow Stalker now, and he was getting tired.

“Shielder, run!” she screamed.

Shielder rolled out of the way of another blow. “No!”

“I can’t hold her forever!”

“I know! Get behind me!”

She was there in a moment, and he raised his arms. A forcefield, as strong as he could muster, sprung up before them—and another, and another, stacking them up in the same space almost as fast as Shielder’s cousin could break them.

Almost… but not quite.

“Run,” he gasped, fighting for breath between throwing shields into place.

Shadow Stalker hesitated, but she understood. She just needed to be reminded.

“They need you,” he rasped, his arms shaking. “And Annatar doesn’t want me. Go!”

He felt her hand on his shoulder for a moment, squeezing, and then she was gone, leaving only a shadowy wisp behind.

Eric kept fighting, trying to distract her, keep her from escaping. They’d need as much time as he could give them.  But he couldn’t last long. One spider leg lanced forward and struck him hard across the temple. He saw stars, crumpling to the ground in pain.

Amy walked up to him, moving casually and slowly, her eyes scanning the horizon. “Shit. They’re all Movers, aren’t they? Did Armsy bring his bike?”

He coughed weakly. “Yup. They’re long gone.”

“Damn. Not bad, Eric,” Amy said, grudging acknowledgement in her voice. “Not gonna help _you_ any, though. Unless you really think they’ll come break you out?”

“I hope not,” he muttered.

“Anyway, gotta bring you back to base…” She knelt down on the ground, roughly rolling Shielder onto his front. “Not _totally_ sure how this works. Boss isn’t usually a fan of taking prisoners.” He felt zip-tie handcuffs cinching around his wrists, just a little bit too tight. “Guess I gotta have them bring the van around, too…” She fiddled with her radio for a second.

“Amy?” asked another voice, a familiar one. “Are you— _Shielder_?”

“Carol.” Amy’s voice was cold as she stood back up. Shielder squirmed around to get a view of Brandish, in full costume, suddenly surrounded by a veritable swarm of spider legs. “Are you going to try and stop me?”

“No,” Brandish said, still standing straight and tall despite Amy’s threat. “There was a warrant out for his arrest. And I don’t see any bodies. Clean fight, by the Wards’ standards.”

“Thanks.” Amy’s voice was skeptical, suspicious. “So what are you doing here? What do you want from me?” She stepped forward, threatening. Shielder wasn’t surprised. He didn’t think she and Carol had talked since Leviathan.

“I went to the PRT building, but you weren’t there. I… I came to apologize,” said Brandish. The words seemed to force themselves out past reluctant lips, and were thick with pain, but once they were out she seemed visibly to relax.

“... Huh?” Amy froze, and her spider legs froze with her. “Really?”

“Yes. I… I was awful to you. I don’t want that to be the end of this. You’re the only daughter I have. I didn’t want things to just… end like this.” She shifted on her feet, trying to meet Amy’s eyes but seeming unable to do so.

Amy watched Brandish for a moment as the sirens of a PRT van began to wail in the night. Shielder saw her lick her lips in a quick, nervous motion. Then her face hardened.

“I didn’t want to be accused of letting Vicky die,” Amy said. Her voice, formerly cold and unwelcoming, was frigid and hateful now. “I didn’t want to grow up with a mother who didn’t trust me. I didn’t want a lot of things.”

She turned and with deceptive strength hefted Shielder up by the arm, supporting him as he scrambled to get his footing. The sudden motion set his head throbbing painfully. His headache was only worsened as a PRT van turned the corner, its headlights glaring into his eyes.

“Amy—” Brandish’s voice was choked and weak, and Amy had no trouble talking over it without even raising her voice.

“It’s a shame we don’t always get what we want,” she said as she pulled him towards the van, away from his aunt and her mother. “Isn’t it, Brandish?”

Shielder craned his neck to see Brandish as Amy pulled him into the van. As his head slipped inside the vehicle, he caught a glimpse of her face, and the tears staining her cheeks.

Then the door closed, and Annatar had taken him.


	90. Glory 10.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

The afternoon sun was waning in the western sky. I had to squint into it as I looked down over the town of Ellisburg from my perch high on one of Dragon’s tinkertech dropships. Lake Ontario sparkled bright behind it.

“It’s smaller than I expected,” I said. The dropship’s transparent door was closed, and the tinkertech soundproofing kept the sound of the engines from filtering into the cabin, so I didn’t even have to raise my voice to be heard.

“People forget it was just a little town before Nilbog,” Dragon agreed, her voice coming in through the dropship’s speakers. “Population under 4,000. The exclusion zone doesn’t help, since it’s far bigger than the town ever was.”

That much was true. The wall surrounding the town stretched miles around the edges of the actual hamlet. Miles of territory, arable land, people’s livelihood, just abandoned to the whims of a madman. “How many concessions have we made?” I asked, half to myself. “To him and to others, just because we’re afraid of a fight?”

“There’s reason for people to be afraid of a straight fight,” Dragon said. “But you know that, of course.”

I nodded. “Yes. Plenty of reason for _other_ people to be afraid.” I smiled. “We’ve got a few advantages. Speaking of which, it’s about time for our last check with Coil.”

“I’ll call him,” Dragon said.

The chiming dial tone filled the cabin, and then Coil’s voice was speaking. “Annatar. I assume you’re calling about my other timeline?”

“Yes. Has it turned anything up?”

“Yes,” Coil said. “I’m dead.”

In Coil’s other timeline, we had nuked Ellisburg. That was the scenario which Protectorate thinkers deemed most likely to have terrible repercussions.

It had been three days since that alternative operation had launched. At first, nothing had happened. Yesterday, Coil had reported a vague illness, felt by both himself and others.

“In your sleep?” I asked.

“Oh, I didn’t sleep,” Coil said. “I needed to observe, to be sure I didn’t miss anything. Around two in the morning, my respiratory system started to fail. After that, my fever shot up, and I was too delirious to be reliable. But it didn’t appear to be any natural illness, though my doctor confirmed it appeared to be bacterial.”

“That sounds right,” said Dragon slowly, through my earpiece. “Nilbog can create organisms; who’s to say he can’t create microorganisms, too?”

“Have you consulted your precognitive?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he said. “I wouldn’t supersede your authority like that.”

I chuckled at the silken flattery. My voice came out as a sarcastic drawl. “Right. Ask her.”

“Very well. Shall I call you back?”

“If you please.” I signaled Dragon to hang up, and the faint static of the call cut out.

“A plague,” Dragon said, a hollow note to her voice. “What a mess. We can’t fight that head on.”

“No,” I agreed. “But perhaps we don’t need to.”

“You have an idea?”

I smiled. “I’m… beginning to. Can you pull up Nilbog’s psych profile?”

* * *

 

“This is insane,” Aegis muttered as he fiddled with his armguards, his voice barely audible over the hum of the dropship’s engines.

All of the Wards had volunteered when I announced my planned assault on Ellisburg. I had no intention of taking all of them, however. Brockton Bay was my city, and watching over the home front was arguably more important than this little excursion, even if I had to oversee the excursion in person.

In the end, I had brought Aegis, Vista, and Kid Win. Clockblocker was in command back home, and each of the other Wards were given their own assignment.

“A bit, yeah,” Kid Win agreed, his eyes wandering over the workings of his hoverboard.  He glanced up at me. “You’re really sure this is a good idea?”

I nodded. “Quite sure.” It was a lie, but I had Coil standing by with another timeline at the ready in case this plan failed.

“Really, though?” Aegis asked, cracking his knuckles one at a time and shuffling on his feet. “Just… kill minions? As many as we can?”

“Without making any effort to get in towards Nilbog’s court,” I confirmed. “Exactly.”

“And… how is that going to help?” he asked.

I smiled. “Leave that to me. When he emerges, let me do the talking.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Vista said with a grimace from her seat in a corner. “We all know better than to try to do your job.”

“ _We’re coming in,_ ” Dragon’s voice said over the radio. “ _Touching down inside the exclusion zone in thirty seconds._ ”

“Last call, boys and girls,” I said, looking around at my three Wards. “Anyone feeling particularly cowardly today? Think Nilbog is scarier than Leviathan was?”

“Nope,” Vista said, getting to her feet and stretching. “Ready when you are, Annatar.”

I rolled my shoulders as the door slid open to the sound of shrieking monsters. “Then let’s hop to it.”

I stepped out onto the dirt road and faced the swarm. Some of them looked almost human, but ruined and twisted, as pale a reflection of modern Man as Man was of the ancient line of Númenor. Others bore no resemblance to humanity, but looked more like lizards, birds, bats, or other beasts. Still others bore no strong resemblance to any creature of the natural world. Yet there was a commonality to every face, in the rage and hate which twisted their lips into a snarl. My own tugged up into a smile.

There we stood, facing down the horde in perfect stillness. The mass of beasts undulated like a single living thing composed of hundreds of parts as claws scraped at the earth and growls and shrieks mingled into an unearthly din. I twirled Búrzashdurb in my fingers, and it sang a low war-song as it whistled through the air. There was no fear—not in me, nor in Dragon or the Wards. All the shrieking and frenzied writhing in the world could not have dissuaded us now.

Nilbog’s creatures—or, perhaps, Nilbog himself behind them—seemed to realize as much. As if at some unseen cue, the monsters charged in unison. Their screeching became a roar, a battle cry, saliva dribbling from their slavering maws. With a cry of my own, or perhaps a laugh, I rushed to meet them, the others falling in behind me. My mace connected with the head of the pack leader with a sound like rolling thunder, and its skull crumpled like paper, spraying blood and grey matter.

In a moment, the monsters were all around us. In a moment more, they filled my world. I laughed high and free as I crushed swathe after swathe of the beasts with great swings of Búrzashdurb. Scores fell before me in a churning mess of crimson gore, their bodies falling apart before Heir of Grond, and scores more came forward to replace them. Soon I saw faces filled with terror more than hate, and then with despair, and my laughter only grew louder.

Above me, Aegis, Kid Win, and several of Dragon’s suits were laying waste to the enemy in their own ways. Vista hung back, and I felt her influence in the form of enemies seemingly unable to escape my blows. But I paid little heed to them. I had missed this, and I was going to enjoy it. I might be a commander and a lord, but there was nothing quite like the heady rush of wading through a sea of the enemy in person and watching it part before me.

Their claws struck me, their teeth bit me, their bodies threw themselves upon me, but I stood strong and tall in my dark armor, unhurt and unyielding as they fell away like so much chaff. I was Annatar, Lord of the Rings, and no numberless horde of goblins, elves, men, or any other nameless thing could bring me down.

And numberless though this tide might seem, I knew Nilbog cared for his creations. He would not— _could_ not—allow them to die like this for long.

As expected, after a few minutes, the enemy fell back, clambering away from us in a sudden rush of frenzied motion. I caught one with a blow that shattered its hips as it turned away, sending it flying.

They turned back to face us once they were about thirty feet away, forming a ring around us, snarling and shrieking, their red and yellow eyes wild with fury, hate, and terror.

Aegis hovered over to me, blood dripping from a gash in his side which was slowly closing. “Do we attack?” he asked, his voice rough with pain and overuse.

I shook my head. “No. He’s coming.”

“Well, I hope he hurries up,” said Vista dryly. “I’m getting bored here.”

“Bored, you say?” It was a bass drum of a voice. Deep, resonant, and powerful, with a rasping, growling undertone. “You are bored? You have killed hundreds of my children here today, and you say you are _bored_?”

We turned. Nilbog was coming. A paper mask covered his face, and he sat in a great throne made of what looked like old wooden furniture cobbled together, borne by four great bear-like beasts. He was fat in the same way that the ocean was wet; rolls of flesh seemed to ripple down his rotund form, leaving him looking more like a mountain than a man.

This body was no human. No human could have survived that kind of gorging and still been capable. This was another creation—a Wizard of Oz, an avatar for the man behind the curtain.

His fists were balled on the arms of his seat, and his jaw and very small neck were tight and contorted in rage. He looked like nothing so much as an oversized baby throwing a tantrum. “What do you want here?” he boomed. “Why have you come?”

I stepped forward. Dragon and the Wards assembled behind me. “I am Annatar,” I introduced. “And I understand you, Goblin King.”

His beasts of burden stopped. He watched me for a moment before speaking. “Understand me?” he asked, his voice tight with hate. “Lies. You would not destroy my creatures, lay waste to my garden, if you understood me.”

I smiled. “No—you merely do not understand _me_. Not yet.” I gestured around. “You see, Goblin King, this town, this territory, this land? It is not yours. It never was, save by right of conquest. It is _mine_. And I have come to reclaim it.”

“Yours!” Nilbog barked, and Dragon shifted beside me at his loud fury. I put a gentle hand on her arm to settle her. “By what right do you claim it? By what authority?”

“By the authority of the human race which calls this world its home, and which rules all of its land and sea,” I intoned. Nilbog styled himself a king, and liked to play pretend with his creations. He imagined himself as a feudal lord of a fiefdom. I, on the other hand, _was_ a lord, and I could match his games blow for blow. “And by the authority of the government which claims this as its sovereign territory, of which I am an agent. You are an invader, Goblin King, and I shall cast you out or drive you into the deep places where man has not yet delved.”

He snarled at me. “You will never force my people out of this place!” he screamed. “We are without number! I can build an army faster than you can destroy one! You will be overrun!”

“I disagree,” I said, with a faint smile. Now to bait the hook. “But even if you speak the truth… that would involve the deaths of thousands of your subjects. You would be throwing them into the fire to die in the vain hope that one would, eventually, strike me down.”

He flinched. “If that is the price we must pay for our freedom,” he hissed. “Then it is one we shall pay, and gladly!”

“Perhaps there is another way?” My voice was slow and thoughtful, almost languid.

“If you want my surrender, you shall never have it!”

I sighed and shrugged. “Well, if you insist.” I nodded back at my Wards. “Purge them.”

For a moment they blinked at me in surprise. Dragon, however, recovered so quickly I barely noticed her hesitation, and then her weapons were up. As they charged, the others fell into line, Kid Win rising up again on his hoverboard as Aegis put up his fists and Vista cracked her knuckles.

“Wait!” Nilbog cried as Dragon took aim, his voice cracking. I held up my hand, and Dragon froze, her gun aimed and whirring. “What is your offer, Annatar?”

He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking down at Dragon’s target, which was staring up at him with a look of supplication. It was female, and its features were reptilian, but its blue skin was smooth and humanlike. Its hair was white, and it wore clothes like a toddler’s.

I considered this creature. “What is your name?” I asked. It startled, staring at me with wide, fearful eyes.

“Polka,” Nilbog said, his voice hard and cold—but also afraid. “She is Polka.”

“You care for this one,” I said, looking back at him. “You care for all of them.”

“Yes,” he said. “As a King should, for his subjects.”

“Indeed,” I said. Now, the line. “It is the duty of the King to protect his subjects from those that mean them harm. That is the duty and privilege of the lord.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice softening slightly. “That is my role.”

“I offer you a chance to fulfill that compact,” I said.

There was silence.

“How?” The word was delivered without inflection.

“Your life, for theirs. This generation of beasts I will allow to live in peace, and then when they have lived their full lives and passed away, I shall reclaim the land for my kingdom without further bloodshed.”

Nilbog stared around at his creations. They were all watching him. Some of them looked almost emotional. I wondered if, as with Dragon, some of them had clung to stray sparks of the Secret Fire.

He swallowed. “You swear to leave them be?” he asked, a hoarse edge to his voice, as though he was near to tears. I wasn’t convinced that his avatar could actually cry. “You swear to let them live out the remainder of their days in peace?”

_And sinker._

“No!” Polka cried. Its voice, too, was feminine, and childlike.

“I swear,” I said solemnly.

He turned back to face me. “Then I accept,” he said.

“You must disable your countermeasures,” I cautioned him. “The things which would retaliate, should you be killed.”

“They are being disabled as we speak.” Slowly, ponderously, he rose from his seat and dropped to the ground. He waddled slowly over to me. “Come,” he said. “Take the life of this King, and let his subjects live.”

I smiled pityingly at him. “My dear Goblin King,” I said softly. “This body of yours would not suffice.”

He froze. Then he looked away.

“I require not only the life of the Goblin King,” I told him. “Give me the life of James Rinke.”

Nilbog was silent for a moment. “Very well,” he said at last. “He is coming.”

Then the Goblin King sat down. Its head dipped down onto its chest. It let out a sigh, and then moved no more.

In the distance, a mound rose in the earth. It burst like a small volcano, spewing streams of dirt, and eventually a fleshy pod was expelled. It broke open, and out stepped a man. He was naked and totally hairless, and his arms and legs were thin and weak from lack of use. A couple of creatures approached him with heads bowed, as supplicants to their god, and gingerly he leaned upon them, hobbling slowly toward us.

I smiled at him as he came close, allowing a touch of sorrow to color the expression. “Goblin King.”

He smiled back. There were tears in his eyes. “Yes,” he said, and his thin, reedy voice was hoarse. “I am the Goblin King. And, as befits a good King, I shall die for my subjects.”

I bowed my head. “Just so.”

He stopped short, and knelt before me. “You will spare my people,” he said. “You swore an oath.”

“And a lord never breaks her oath,” I confirmed. “My word is my bond, King of Ellisburg. You have that word—no harm shall come to your creatures from outside these walls.”

He looked down. “Then… finish the deed.”

I swung Búrzashdurb. His head splattered across the field.

The creatures began to wail as his body crumpled to the ground. I allowed the solemn lines of my face to fade as I turned to my team.

“Dragon?” I said.

“Yes?”

“Purge them.”

The creatures stopped wailing. The sudden silence was ghastly.

Dragon hesitated. “But…”

I sighed. “You’re right.” I turned back to the horde. With a scrap of Song, fire engulfed my left hand. “I should finish this myself.”

The fire burst forth, a jet of flame hot enough to melt flesh. The beasts began to scream.

Polka dived for me, hatred and loss burning in its eyes, but I caught its clothes and it began to burn. It squealed and stumbled, rolling around in agony on the ground at my feet.

Rinke’s corpse was already burning away, the exposed bone blackening rapidly. The beasts were scattering now, fleeing rather than face me, but it wouldn’t help them. The fire was spreading, faster than any ordinary fire. Soon it would consume all of the exclusion zone, reclaiming the town of Ellisburg for whatever use I saw fit to put it to.

Polka screamed, clawing at the air as it burned. “Annatar—agh!” it wailed. “Annatar promised!”

I smiled coldly down at it. “Annatar lied.” I turned away, leaving it writhing, and walked between my Wards back towards the Dragoncraft. “Let’s go,” I said. “We’re finished here.”

* * *

 

“I’ve got to say, Annatar,” said Piggot, a genuine smile on her face, “When you said you were going after Nilbog, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. People have been worried about him for over a decade now. It seemed like a recipe for disaster. Gotta say, I’ve never been happier to be wrong.” She raised her champagne glass, the first alcohol she’d have drunk in ten years. “Here’s to you.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Assault, lifting a much larger mug. “Hear, hear!”

I smiled around at the group. Not everyone was here—understandable, since it was a little after two in the morning. Piggot was here, of course, as were Assault, Miss Militia, and all my Wards. Dragon, too, was in attendance in her gynoid body.

We sat in one of the larger lounges in the PRT building. There was food, there was drink—and no one was particularly bothered when a couple of the Wards and I took small glasses of the champagne for ourselves. None of us had any intention of really indulging.

“So, Nilbog’s really gone?” Clockblocker asked. “Just—poof?”

“Him and all his horde,” I confirmed. “We can start resettling Ellisburg tomorrow, if we want.”

“And it’s just the beginning,” said Dragon, slipping into the seat on the couch beside me and putting her arm around me. “The first of many.”

I smiled at her. “Too right,” I agreed. “I won’t tolerate marauding killers or dominating tribal chiefs anymore, not while I can do something about it. Things are going to start changing now.”

“Not a moment too soon,” Miss Militia said from across the room, and I heard a harsh satisfaction in the words.

Before I could respond, Dragon leaned in and murmured in my ear. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for?” I asked in a similar pitch.

“For doubting. Hesitating.” She smiled sadly at me. “When you turned back around on Nilbog’s creatures. I… lost sight of the goal.”

I put a hand on her knee and squeezed it gently. “It’s fine,” I told her. “It went against instinct, I know. But you know why we had to do it?”

“I know. The whole point was to neutralize Ellisburg.” She sighed, but whether in sadness, grief, or shame I wasn’t sure. “If we let the horde stay, it would barely be better than not having gone at all.”

“Worse, from a PR stance,” I corrected. “Because then we’d have left a headless horde, with no way to guarantee they didn’t lash out. It had to be done.”

She nodded. “I know. I’m just… I’m sorry for hesitating, for making you do it alone.”

I nudged her with my shoulder. “No harm done,” I said. “I killed him; it was my fight to finish.”

A hand landed on my other shoulder and squeezed gently. I turned to find Aegis standing behind the couch, looking down at us. “You don’t have to do it all alone,” he said. “We’re with you, Annatar. To the end of the line.”

“No need to be so dramatic,” I chastised. “The end of the line won’t be coming for a long while.”

“All the better,” he said, but there was something distant in his eyes, as though he was thinking about something else.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, shifting to face him more fully. “Something bothering you?”

He considered me. “Do you ever wonder about what it’s costing you?”

“What _what’s_ costing me?” I asked, a faint chuckle lining my voice.

“Things like Ellisburg, killing all those things. Doing the right thing, even when it _feels_ wrong.”

“Do you?”

“A little,” he admitted. “It wasn’t long ago I wouldn’t have _dreamed_ of doing something like that. Baiting Nilbog into a deal, and then backing out of it. Even if I could have convinced him, which I couldn’t, it just… wouldn’t have occurred to me.”

“Attacking Nilbog in the first place wasn’t something you’d have considered either,” I noted.

“I think that’s the point,” he said, nodding. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a proud set to his features. “Something was lost, maybe, but look at what we’ve gained.” He gestured around the room with the glass in his hand. “Heartbreaker, Valefor, Nilbog. The Empire and ABB are in hiding, and Coil’s working with us.” He smiled slightly. It was a bittersweet expression. “The old Aegis wouldn’t have done some of the things I’ve done, but he’d also never have seen this.”

“Exactly,” agreed Browbeat, speaking up from an armchair across from us. “We’ve changed, definitely. But when I ask myself, ‘was it worth it?’ the answer’s yes. I don’t even have to think about it.” He looked like he was thinking about it, however, staring down into his fluted glass pensively. “I used to think being a hero was about being an example,” he said slowly. “About being a better person, being the ideal that people could aspire to.”

_Being a hero isn’t about beating up bad guys, Sophia. It’s about making the world better._

“But that’s not it at all,” said Browbeat, oblivious to my minute flinch. “It’s about… about making the sacrifices, about being the martyr, so other people don’t have to. It’s about being the one who compromises, so that other people can sleep easily.”

I put a smile on my face. “After all,” I said, “if we don’t do it, who will?”

Dragon nudged me. I glanced over at her. Her hand was at her ear, as though listening. She gave me a meaningful look. “Sorry,” she apologized to the Wards. “Annatar and I should take this.”

“Of course,” I said, standing. “We’ll be right back.”

I followed her out of the party and into a private room before speaking. “Coil?”

She nodded at me, pulling a small tinkertech speaker out of her pocket. “You’re on speaker,” she said, setting it down on the table in the middle of the room as I pulled up a chair.

“Thank you, Dragon,” came Coil’s voice. “Annatar—no sign of subterfuge on Nilbog’s part so far. My precog agrees with that assessment.”

“What did you ask her, exactly?” I probed.

“I asked for the probability that Nilbog would directly cause any significant loss of life in the future, after you finished killing both him and his horde,” he said. “She gave a probability of 0.0043%. I assumed two significant figures was sufficient.”

“It was,” I agreed. I allowed the last vestiges of tension to drain from my frame. “Then it’s done. We’re safe. The plan worked.”

“It certainly appears so.”

“Good. We’ll plan our next move tomorrow—for now, I’m going back to the party. Drop your other timeline, and we’ll talk again tomorrow.”

“As you say. And can I just say—congratulations on a successful operation.”

I grinned. “Your contributions were appreciated. I look forward to working with you again.”

As he hung up, Dragon and I both stood. “Sorry about pulling you away from the party,” she said.

“You’re doing an awful lot of apologizing for someone who hasn’t done anything wrong,” I said, offering her my arm. She took it. “Come, let’s get back to it.”

Panacea was waiting for us at the door as we reentered the room. “Hey, boss,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Oh, yes,” I said, leading her over to the couch and sitting back down, gesturing to a vacant seat nearby. She sat down in it, crossing her legs to accommodate her skirt. “How did your attack on Shadow Stalker and Armsmaster’s group go?”

“Not perfectly,” she admitted, though she didn’t seem particularly bothered. “Shadow Stalker’s gotten to be a hell of a fighter. Took one prisoner, though.”

“That’s not nothing,” I allowed. “And it’s not as though it was urgent. We’ll have more chances. Who did you capture?”

“Shielder,” she said. “I was wondering if you wanted to talk to him. He’s downstairs, in the dungeon.”

Dragon coughed.

“Sorry,” Panacea corrected, without a hint of shame. “ _Holding cells_.”

I rolled my eyes at her. “I’ll talk to him in the morning,” I said. “I’m curious what made him turn. I wonder who recruited him, and what they said to make him turn against the rest of New Wave?”

“Dunno,” said Panacea, but there was a noncommittal edge to her voice, and she was looking away from me now. “You should talk to him. I’m gonna get a drink and some food.”

I nodded. “Later, Panacea.”

“Later, boss.”

I leaned back in the couch, my eyes drifting shut as I sank into the cushions. Dragon’s hand patted my thigh. “Tired?” she asked.

“Long day,” I said. “I might turn in soon.”

“You’ve earned it.”

“I have, haven’t I?”

“So, Annatar!” Vista flopped down on the couch on my other side. “What’s next? The Slaughterhouse Nine? The Blasphemies? Sleeper?”

“No idea,” I said without opening my eyes. “Any requests?”

She chuckled. “So long as we keep making a difference, I’m happy,” she said. “You just keep telling me who we’re hitting, and I’m happy to hit them.”

I smiled, still with closed eyes. I could feel the specter of sleep on the edge of my consciousness, and slowly I was coaxing it nearer. “A girl after my own heart, you are,” I told her. “Don’t you worry—there’s plenty more S-Class threats for us to—”

Dragon’s hand tensed suddenly on my leg. I sat up, looking at her. Her eyes were wide, and her head was whipping around to stare at me. “Dragon?” I asked sharply. “What is it?”

For a moment she was silent, blinking at me. “Coil,” she said. “He just hit his panic button.”

And just like that, I wasn’t tired anymore. Now I was angry.

“What? _Now_?” Vista asked, staring at Dragon. “But who—”

“We know who,” I growled through clenched teeth, my eyes burning. “ _Sophia_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait. There wre a couple weeks when I couldn't post chapters on this site for various reasons, and other than that I was just lazy. Enjoy the multipost. By my count, seven chapters.


	91. Interlude 10d

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

Dinah woke to a pounding headache and little else. Her tiny room was pitch-black and silent as a tomb.

She licked dry lips and closed her eyes, trying to shut out the throbbing of her head, the itching of her eyes, the burning in her throat.

She was tempted to ask her power the chances of going to sleep again, but it wasn’t worth it. Coil wouldn’t be happy with her wasting a use, and it wasn’t as though she didn’t already know the approximate answer.

She sat up and groped for her water bottle. Her fingers found it, pulled it towards her.

It didn’t move. She blinked. Her head turned.

There was a faint green light, like a dim, twinkling star, where the bottle’s lid should be.

“Please don’t scream,” the girl’s voice was low, gentle. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Dinah froze. Before she could think twice, the question was out. _Odds that this person is going to hurt me?_

 _8.24%_. The answer came with a twinge of pain in her already aching head, making her flinch, but the answer itself was good news. _I’ll bet on those odds_.

She cleared her throat. “Can I have the water bottle?” she asked, keeping her voice low and calm.

The shimmering green light moved and the bottle came free. Dinah unscrewed the cap and drank deep.

“Who are you?” the voice asked. “Why are you down here?”

Dinah took her time swallowing and screwing the cap back on before answering. “Who’s asking?” she returned. The more information she could gain without using her powers, the better.

“Shadow Stalker,” said the voice. “I’m here to take down Coil.”

Dinah closed her eyes and prayed that the desperate hope wasn’t showing on her face. “How’d you get in here?”

“Powers,” said Shadow Stalker simply. “Your turn. Who are you?”

Dinah licked her lips. They still felt dry, somehow. _Probability that this girl will beat Coil, if I help her?_

_85.76%._

Dinah gritted her teeth the pain. She only had _maybe_ two more questions in her. If she burned one on _Probability that I’ll be able to go home afterward?_ she wouldn’t be much help. So she buried her uncertainty, her fear, and her hope, and cleared her throat. “Dinah Alcott,” she said.

“You’re the precog, aren’t you?” Shadow Stalker asked, something soft and unidentifiable in her voice.

“That’s me,” said Dinah, trying to inject some levity into her voice. It didn’t work.

A gloved hand touched her arm gently. “It’s over now,” said Shadow Stalker. “We’re getting you out of here.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Dinah asked. “Not the Protectorate.”

“No,” Shadow Stalker said, and her voice was sad. “Not this time. But we’re heroes, all the same. Or we try to be.”

“Better than the Protectorate, then,” Dinah said, swinging her legs off the side of the bed. “Do you have a plan?”

“Do you know where Coil is?”

“I know where his _office_ is. But if I just take you there—”

“I don’t want you to take me there,” Shadow Stalker interrupted. “Can you give me directions, from this room?”

Dinah did. “Now what?”

“Now we wait,” said Shadow Stalker. “Until the alarm goes off.”

“What alarm—”

A siren began to blare. A red klaxon flared in the ceiling, lighting the room up like a flickering fire. In the glow Dinah at last saw Shadow Stalker. The red light cast her metal mask in ghastly shadows under the hood of her costume.

“That alarm,” said Shadow Stalker. “Give me a sec.”

The klaxon spun. The red light crossed over the hooded hero, and passed away. When it shone again over the place where she’d stood, she was gone.

Dinah clasped her hands together, squeezing nervously. There was nothing to do now but wait.

After a few moments, the soundproofed door to her cell slid open silently. Shadow Stalker stood framed in the opening, the red light sliding off her like water on oil. There was a thud as she dropped the unconscious guard in her grip. “Come on,” she said. “And stay behind me.”

Dinah huddled close to her savior as she led the way down the concrete corridor. “Where are we going?” she said, having to shout over the blaring alarm.

“Coil’s office.”

“Alone?”

“No.”

Gunfire rattled somewhere nearby. Dinah jumped, but Shadow Stalker put a hand on her shoulder. “Easy,” said the hero. “Everything’s fine.”

“How do you know?” Dinah found herself asking.

Shadow Stalker looked down at her. “Just gotta have faith,” she said. “Come on.”

They turned a corner and were faced with three of Coil’s men, guns at the ready. “On the ground!” one shouted. “Hands where I can see them!”

Shadow Stalker didn’t hesitate. With one hand, she pushed Dinah back behind the wall as the other raised a crossbow. The machine guns burst with deafening sound, but the bullets passed through the space where Shadow Stalker had been, now occupied only by a wisp of darkness. The darkness surged forward like smoke and passed out of Dinah’s vision.

There was a scuffling. The gunfire ceased, and someone made a gurgling sound with their throat. A moment later, Shadow Stalker called, “Dinah, come out! It’s safe.”

Dinah poked her head out. Shadow Stalker was standing in the middle of the three men, all of them with darts in their necks, carefully reloading her crossbows. “Not much further,” she said. “The rest of his people are probably busy elsewhere.” She didn’t even sound out of breath.

“Busy with what?” Dinah asked, jogging to keep up with the hero.

“The others,” Shadow Stalker said absently, cautiously peering down another corner before gesturing for Dinah to follow her. “First door on the left, you said?”

“Yes. But—”

Shadow Stalker opened the door, and then turned into a wisp of shadow just in time to avoid the bullet going through her brain. When she reformed, her bow was out and pointed into the room. Dinah peered around the doorframe.

Coil was standing behind his desk, a handgun in his hand. In his spandex bodysuit, he looked like a dark mannequin around which coiled a silver snake.

All this, Dinah had seen before. What had her stopping and staring in awe and horror was the way the snake was moving, slithering along his dark form like a thing alive. Her eyes seemed to slide off of it, and she couldn’t be sure whether the motion was real or just a trick of the light.

The snake’s beady eyes seemed to fix themselves on Dinah’s savior. Its mouth seemed to open. “Shadow Stalker,” it said, in a voice that was both a sibilant hiss and the same aristocratic cadence Dinah had come to associate with Coil. “I might have known.”

“Surrender,” said Shadow Stalker. Her voice was low, and a green light seemed to flicker across her costume, shimmering around her like a halo.

The snake laughed. “Surrender? I? When I have you in the heart of my territory, in the very seat of my power?” The room grew darker. The alarm still blared, the red warning light still shone, but Coil’s shadow filled the room, dimming light and sound, leaving the percussive gunfire from elsewhere in the base sounding somehow muted. “I don’t think so. _You_ surrender, and I will deliver you to Annatar unharmed.”

“Not an option.” Shadow Stalker stood unyielding, and the shadow could not touch the light which surrounded her. “I’m taking Dinah out of here, and I’m taking you in.”

The snake’s head turned. Its red eyes fixed on Dinah’s own, and it was as though all the blood in her body had frozen at once. “Oh, Dinah,” it said, its voice soft and pitying. “Did you really think you could escape me? Did you think this traitor would help you?”

Dinah tried to move, to speak, to hide, to run, to scream. All that came out was a faint whimper. Her eyes remained fixed on the snake’s.

“You will never be rid of me,” the serpent hissed. “You are _mine_ , little one.”

Then Shadow Stalker was in front of her, and the spell was broken. Dinah fell back, gasping and clinging to the wall like a lifeline. Her whole body was sticky with sweat.

“No, she isn’t.” Shadow Stalker’s voice was hard. “And nor is that Ring on your finger. Time’s up, Coil. You’ve had your fun.”

“I keep the Ring with the blessing of its Maker,” hissed Coil, and from where she stood behind Shadow Stalker, bathed in the warm green light that seemed to radiate off of her, the voice was only a man’s. “The same cannot be said for you.”

“If you hadn’t stolen that Ring, none of this might have happened,” said Shadow Stalker. “Maybe I can’t set it right. Maybe no one can. But I can try—and it begins here.” Her left hand clenched into a fist, and the green light burst like a curtain around her, a pristine aurora of color. “Give up the Ring, and come quietly. This is your last chance.”

Coil laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound; it was maddened and frenzied, barely human. “Do you think _you_ could be parted from your Ring?” he screeched. “Do you think that you could give it up, put it aside, and not break? Don’t make me laugh!” He spread his arms. “You’ll have to kill—”

There was a thud as the crossbow bolt impacted his chest. The second sank into his neck.

Without another word, with barely a sound, Coil toppled forward. He fell into his desk and slid along it, scattering papers and sending his laptop crashing to the tiled floor with a resounding crunch. Then he followed it down, ending in a crumpled heap surrounded by the remains of his work. The shadow receded, and suddenly Dinah was merely standing behind a girl in a costume, looking in at a man’s office.

Shadow Stalker holstered her crossbows and strode forward. Dinah hurried to follow her. “Is he dead?” she asked.

“No,” said Shadow Stalker. “Tranquilized. We may not have that long.” She knelt beside the body. Her hands closed around his left hand. Her fingers reached for his, and she pulled.

Dinah blinked, and when her eyes opened there was a small gold Ring in Shadow Stalker’s hand. A single ruby seemed to glow in the band, flickering firelike against the black of the hero’s glove. It was beautiful.

She only had a momentary glimpse of it before Shadow Stalker was tucking it away in a pouch in her belt. Then she was hoisting the man onto her shoulder. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“How?” Dinah asked. The gunfire was still sounding somewhere in the base. “Coil’s mercenaries are still everywhere!”

“That’s the easy part,” said Shadow Stalker. She reached down, picked up Coil’s handgun, and put it to the man’s head. “Stay behind me, and keep quiet. With luck, we’ll get out of here without having to fight.”

Dinah found that she was shaking, but whether in fear or relief, she didn’t know. “Okay.”

Shadow Stalker led the way back down the corridor, past the three unconscious men. They came to a barricade, but instead of a squad of Coil’s men manning it, they were faced with one man in blue power armor.

“You got him?” Armsmaster asked.

Shadow Stalker nodded. “Narwhal and Chevalier are keeping the Travelers busy?”

“Yes. The way out is clear from here.” Armsmaster turned. His metal boots clanked as he led them up a flight of stairs.

Dinah’s hand reached out unbidden and gripped the fabric of Shadow Stalker’s costume. The hero shifted her grip on the gun so that it was in the same hand that was holding up Coil, and her other hand came down to squeeze Dinah’s own.

“It’s over now,” she said. “We’re getting you home.”

As they passed out of the base into the street, as the stars shone above her for the first time in months, she looked up at her savior, proud and tall in the night, under the stars.

Then she looked past her, and froze. She felt the blood draining out of her face. Shadow Stalker stopped too, looking down at her.

“Dinah?” she asked. “What is it?”

With a shaking hand, Dinah pointed at the rooftop across the street. Shadow Stalker turned and followed her gaze.

There, framed against the moon, her mace held low and ready, was Annatar.


	92. Glory 10.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.
> 
> Trigger warning: This chapter contains graphic imagery related to self-harm and suicide.

The moonlight shone silver on Sophia’s mask, bright despite the gathering clouds. It washed out the pale face of the little girl beside her. It set the snake on Coil’s costume aglow. It glistened on Armsmaster’s blue armor.

I stared down at Sophia, and she stared back up at me. The night was warm and damp; the silence was frigid.

Without a word, I stepped off the roof. My feet touched the pavement with a gentle click and a faint rattling of my armor as I absorbed the shock. That was the only sound to cross my ears. Even the sound of gunfire from inside Coil’s base seemed to have died away, or perhaps I simply didn’t care to notice it.

Sophia knelt and rolled Coil’s unconscious form off of her shoulder. She did it carefully, almost gently, as though she was afraid of hurting him. As his arms flopped down to the ground, I saw the stark absence of the Ring of Fire on his finger.

She stood up again. Her eyes had never wavered from me. She spoke then, but not to me. “Dinah, run,” she ordered.

The little girl didn’t move. She was frozen as surely as if I had encased her in ice, her eyes wide, her whole body shuddering like a leaf in a windstorm.

Sophia reached down, still without looking, and took her hand, squeezing gently. The girl blinked. “Go,” Sophia murmured.

Dinah turned and fled down the street. I didn’t move to stop her. Why should I? The city was mine. I could always recover her later. Right now, I had more pressing concerns.

“Armsmaster, go help the others,” Sophia said.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Armsmaster turn to stare at her. “Shadow Stalker—”

“ _Do it_.” Sophia’s voice was firm.

After a last glance at me, Armsmaster turned and jogged back down into the base. I let him go, too. Dragon and the others would catch him.

Sophia took two steps sideways, away from Coil, still watching me. I followed her with my eyes, but otherwise didn’t move.

“Hey, Taylor,” she said, finally breaking the silence.

“Hello, Sophia.” My voice was low, and I found that it was practically emotionless. I couldn’t find the anger which had driven me not ten minutes ago. What should I be feeling? Sadness? Hurt?

Cenya flared faintly on her finger. My eyes narrowed. It, too, had something to answer for, if it would dare betray the Lord of the Rings.

“Did you know?” Sophia asked suddenly.

I cocked my head minutely.

“That Dinah was so young,” she said, the words heavy with useless sorrow. “She can’t have been twelve. Did you know you were working with someone who was keeping a little girl locked and drugged up in his basement?”

“No,” I said. It was the truth.

“But it wouldn’t have stopped you if you had.”

I didn’t bother replying. We both knew the answer.

“Coil was a monster. You have to _know_ that, Taylor! Are you really going to stop me from taking him in?”

“Of course not,” said I. “Coil’s served his purpose. He helped us defeat Nilbog, he’s helped me bring the city under control… and now he’s brought you back to me. That’s more than enough.”

Her fists clenched. “Brought _me_ to you…?”

“It’s time to come home, Sophia.”

She swallowed. “I want to go home,” she said, and her words were layered with grief and shame. “But I don’t know if I have one, any more.”

“Home is where the heart is,” I said, and a faint smile came to my lips as she shuddered.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Please.”

“It’s the truth.” I sighed, allowing a gentle, almost suggestive tone to enter my voice. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Sophia. I’m willing to put it all aside if you are. Come home. Come back to me.”

A faint, tearful chuckle escaped her. “Huh. That’s my line.” She looked back up at me. “I’m not giving up,” she said, a sad smile in her voice. “I know there’s still good in you. I know the girl who saved me, who led me against Bakuda and Leviathan, who held me as I cried, is still in there.”

“I stand before you,” I said. “Please, Sophia. I know things have changed since last we met, and I know it can be frightening. The world is a dark and awful place. The only refuge we have is in one another.”

“That’s not what you mean.” Her voice was a gentle sigh, a whisper on the wind. “You mean that the only refuge we have is in _you_.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You seem determined to think of me as a monster, unwilling or unable to care about people. I do. I care about Dragon, and the Wards, and everyone in this city. And I’m worried about you.” My voice had been joyful, glad to finally see her again, but a measure of disappointment started to creep into it. The tone was copied from memories of my mother. “You can’t run away from your fears like this, especially not with your probation. I promise, we can sort everything out, but you need to work with me.”

She sighed. Her head turned to look up at the building clouds above, and a few seconds passed. “No,” she said, so quietly I could barely hear her.

“I can’t let you leave,” I said, injecting some regret into my voice as I raised Búrzashdurb. “Please, Sophia. I don’t want to fight you. Don’t make this hard.”

She reached up and pulled off her mask. It fell to the ground with a clatter, immeasurably loud in the silent tension of the night. Our eyes met. She was smiling through her tears. “You keep stealing my lines,” she said, reaching for her belt. With a sharp ring and a flash like lightning, Narsil emerged.

My eyes widened. So _that_ was where that treasonous sword had gone this time. “Where did you get that?”

“It came to me,” Sophia said, closing her hands on the hilt in a practiced grip.

“You mean you stole it, just as Coil stole Narya,” I said, the disappointment in my voice growing darker and stormier. My grip tightened on Búrzashdurb. “That sword is dangerous, Sophia. As dangerous as any Ring of Power.”

She chuckled. “It’s a weapon,” she said. “It’s _supposed_ to be dangerous.”

“To _you_ , Sophia. That is the Sword of Kings, the Last Blade of Númenor. And it wasn’t meant for you. I’m sure you’ve felt its effects...” I averted my eyes for just a split second, as the perfect story came to me. “Now I know why you changed.”

Her eyes widened. “You—”

“The sense of importance,” I said. “The sense of _righteousness_. This ironclad stubbornness that renders you all but deaf to me. Did you think that was natural? Did you think it was real?”

She stared at me. Then her gaze shifted, slowly, to her hands, still clutching the sword.

“Please, Sophia,” I said. _Nearly there. Without Narsil, she will fall._ “I’m sorry. I should have known you’d be vulnerable. I should have warned you. But… you were my best friend, Sophia. You were strong and noble and _beautiful_ without Narsil. You didn’t need it then, and you don’t need it now. So please… please put that sword down. I promise we’ll talk, the moment you can see clearly again.”

Her gaze remained fixed on her hands.

No… her _hand_. Her left hand. Her left hand which slowly came away from the blade. Her left hand on which Cenya lay, dull and dim, no longer able to work against its Maker.

“I knew this was coming,” she said. Her voice was dull, lifeless. “I knew, after Coil. I didn’t want to believe it. I hoped….” She sighed. “Okay. Fine.” She sheathed Narsil with a ringing sound. Her right hand came up. The movement was slow and reluctant.

“Sophia,” I said. My voice was rising unbidden. “What are you doing?”

She looked back to me. Her gaze fixed itself on mine, as though she were drawing strength from the sight of my eyes. “I know you’re still in there, Taylor,” she said. Her voice was rough with exertion as the fingers of her right hand closed around her ring finger. Around Cenya. “It’s not over. Not yet. And if your Ring stands in my way, then...”

With an almighty heave, Cenya came free. She held it for a moment, twinkling in the night, before letting it slip through her fingers. It fell to the ground, landing with a quiet, sad clink on the pavement beside her mask.

I saw red.

“It’s not enough that you betray me,” I growled, beginning to advance. “That you strike me at my lowest again and again. Now you reject me completely. Maybe you thought you couldn’t hurt me?” I let out a sharp bark of laughter. “You were wrong.”

Her eyes were red, too. She looked so small, now, diminished as she was by the loss of her own Ring. She was shaking as if in cold. But as she drew Narsil, her grip on the sword was steady. “I’m sorry, Taylor,” she said quietly. “But I haven’t given up yet.”

“Too bad,” I said, my voice deep and dark. “You just lost your chance.”

I swung Búrzashdurb, leaping forward in an instant, and Sophia barely caught it on her blade. Even as she staggered I raised the mace again for another blow. I drove her back, each strike dealt with my full strength. Weakened as she was, it was as much luck as skill that allowed her to deflect each blow. But her luck would soon run out. By the look of horror in her wide eyes, sparkling and emerald-green, she knew it too.

A few more blows, and she was up against the wall, her elbows pressed against it. She could scarcely even swing Narsil now. She caught one last blow with the flat, and it sent her sprawling. Narsil clattered to the ground beside her, just out of her reach. She tried to get up, to crawl towards it, but I put my booted foot on her back, and she went down, her fingers splayed, barely brushing the hilt of the sword.

It was over.

I raised Búrzashdurb. “Goodbye, Sophia,” I said. There was no warmth in my voice this time.

It all happened in the space between one heartbeat and the next. Even as I began to swing, Sophia surged forth in a mighty lunge. Her fingers closed on the hilt of Narsil. As the mace fell, she spun, knocking my foot away with an impossible surge of strength. And yet it still wasn’t enough.

Narsil met Búrzashdurb, and shattered with a thunderous crack. Fragments sprayed everywhere. Armor and costume alike tore like paper.

The shards of Narsil embedded themselves within me. And I _remembered_ them. I remembered _everything_.

The past I had tried to forget flashed before my eyes.

The spires of Thangorodrim crumbling beneath the bulk of Ancalagon. Celebrimbor’s ruined body upon the rack. Númenor disappearing into the water. Barad-dûr crumbling beneath me as Orodruin consumed what it had once birthed.

I staggered back, visions bursting before my eyes like Olórin’s fireworks. Distantly I was aware of Sophia screaming my name. “Mairon!” she was shouting—or was it “Sauron!”?

No. Neither of these.

The wall hit my back. I clutched at it with both hands, fighting to remain lucid, fighting through the pain and the awful sights and sounds which were flooding back.

Celebrimbor had betrayed me. _No, her name was Sophia._

Why did the sight of his body, torn and mutilated, hurt worse than the shards in my flesh?

I blinked, and the visions were gone. Sophia was staring at me. Her face was slack with naked horror. There was a long, ugly gash across her face, and it poured blood. My wounds too were bleeding, but blood was a mortal concern. I stood back up, almost angrily passing my free hand over my body, and the wounds closed. She laughed bleakly, her green eyes clouding over. “I almost thought I hurt you there, Taylor. You really tried to kill me, didn’t you?”

Who was Taylor? I didn’t quite remember. It didn’t matter. A flex of my power, and Narsil’s shards fell to the ground like so much trash. They sparkled there about my feet, cold steel eyes, accusing yet powerless.

How had Sophia gotten Narsil in the first place? Who gave it to her? She hadn’t been a skillful wielder, yet it seemed proud and joyful in her hands even now. Even after she’d lost.

I shook myself out. I was fine. No blade so feebly wielded could truly harm me, not even Narsil. And so I advanced once more. She had betrayed me. She needed to die. I had to kill her. Because if I didn’t…

“Are you… certain you won’t surrender?” I found myself asking. The words sounded dull and muffled in my ears, my voice unfamiliar to me.

She laughed again, the sound crazed with grief. “Why would I? It’s too late, isn’t it?” She tried to lever herself back to her feet, but failed, slumping against the wall like a discarded ragdoll. “If I can’t save you, what would be left for me?” With an exertion that looked desperately painful even to me, she stepped forward in front of me, her arms held out as if to block the alleyway, Narsil’s shattered hilt still clutched in her hand. “This ends here. You’ll have to go through me!”

A child could defeat her now. She was unarmed, badly injured, almost too weak to stand. She knew that, yet still she stood in my way.

Sophia’s blood trickled down the wall. The crimson rivulet cut a path through a red eye painted onto the brick.

That mark had once been painted onto the shields of tens of thousands of orcs. It had been raised on bloodstained flags over Minas Ithil, over Osgiliath, over all of Rhûn. Now it decorated the walls of subways and alleys, and looked in no way out of place.

I stepped forward. Búrzashdurb scraped and sparked along the pavement as I dragged it behind me. When had it become such a burden?

There were so many things that didn’t make sense to me any longer. How had Dragon been given her soul? I didn’t give it to her. What had I told myself—that the Secret Fire had scattered, had perhaps been harnessed? The idea seemed suddenly laughable.

Soon I stood tall beside Sophia’s prone form, staring down at her. Sweat dripped down my back, only partly a result of the warm night.

“You’re taking your sweet time, aren’t you?” Sophia made a weak, pitiful sound, halfway between a snort and a gasp. The pavement was stained with her blood. “This chance won’t last long! Can’t you kill one blind fool?!”

Her false bravado was unconvincing, and she knew it. She had given up. As I had used her as a tool, so now was she attempting to use me. I was the knife on her wrist, the rope about her neck, the barrel of the gun in her mouth.

A thin curtain of rain emerged from the clouds overhead. The drizzle fell upon my armor and dripped down in thin rivulets and streams. It ran down the haft of Búrzashdurb, falling to the ground in a tinkling stream.

Slowly, I raised the mace above my head, finally knowing what I had once been, what I would become once more the instant I brought it down.

Her eyes closed. A single tear glittered crystalline, suspended on her lashes.

I swung the mace. The black metal reflected no light as it fell towards her face, consuming the faint moonlight filtering through the clouds.

It stopped just short of her brow, perfectly still, frozen in time.

No. _I_ stopped.

I stared down at Sophia. Her brow furrowed, and then her eyes opened. They blinked at the mace above her, then sought mine. Her lips parted, a silent question on them. In the end, all that emerged was a single word. “Taylor?”

 _Taylor._ My name.

Her eyes were so very green. Green as the turf in Valinor, as the purest emerald.

How had a man in a boat been able to sail all the way across the sundering seas to Aman? How had one man, with nothing but grief and a broken sword, struck unerringly at the one place where his enemy was weak? How had two young halflings and a half-mad beast managed to walk in the heart of darkness and destroy temptation itself?

How, in the end, after all had passed beyond myth, had one Maia who was too slow to learn from her mistakes found herself born again? How had she come to be in just the right place and time to hear Sophia Hess whisper the name of _Taylor_ in a broken voice?

The rain fell upon my armor. As it passed, soot came away, streaks of silver emerging from beneath the darkness. It rained also over the crimson eye upon the wall, and the paint began to run. Red droplets slid down into the gutter, whence it would pass away into the sea.

 _Lord of the Earth_. That was what some had called me, once upon a time. A title I had craved, had striven for, had killed to gain. A title spoken with reverence by orcs, goblins, and the men under my sway—a title spat upon by those who resisted. As I remembered the sight of Celebrimbor upon the rack, and the hissing wails of nine souls in torment, I realized that the person who had borne that title was one I did not much like.

“Annatar!” The voice came from above. Dragon was here. She was coming. “Annatar, are you—”

“My name is Taylor.” The words were faint but strong, because they were true.

Sophia was staring at me. Her eyes were bright. She didn’t seem to dare to speak.

I straightened, and cast Búrzashdurb aside. The mace left cracks in the pavement as it landed headfirst. There it stood, half-upright, suspended in the asphalt.

A faint breeze came in from the west, cooling the warm evening, and I recoiled from it, knowing at last what it meant.

Dragon landed, staring between me and Sophia. “Ann—Taylor?” she asked, uncertainty and a little fear coloring her voice. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

I didn’t look at her. My eyes remained fixed on Sophia’s. They were so green. “I happened,” said I. My eyes slid closed. “And I was wrong. I was _always_ wrong.”

_Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned._


	93. Interlude 10e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

The rain was cool and soft on Sophia’s wounds. It brushed tenderly at her scored cheek and at the gash in her side. It soothed her aching arms and legs, and plastered her hood against her hair.

She stared up at Taylor, almost afraid to breathe. Was this another trick? Another lie? Another trap, baited with what Annatar knew Sophia wanted most in all the world?

But—no. It couldn’t be. Not with the soot slowly sliding off of her armor in an oily, black flood, not with the tears gathering in the corners of her closed eyes, not with the look of bittersweet shame on her face. Sophia knew that expression all too well, and she was sure it wasn’t faked.

And yet…

She didn’t have Cenya anymore. Narsil was as broken as she was. How could she be _sure_? She couldn’t exactly trust her own instincts, not where Taylor was concerned.

“No!” Dragon sounded almost desperate, “An—Taylor, what are you talking about? We just beat Nilbog! We stopped Heartbreaker and Valefor—we shut down the Empire and the ABB! You said—”

“I know,” said Taylor, and her voice was soft and rough. Sophia hadn’t heard Taylor speak like that since that night when, for a few awful minutes, they had been two of the last living Wards. “I know what I said. And I was wrong.”

“No!” Dragon was angry now. She rounded on Sophia, who for her part was still staring dumbstruck up at Taylor. Her weapons emerged and began to whirr. “No, this isn’t right! What did you do to her, you b—”

“Dragon.” Taylor’s voice was soft, and sad, and gentle, and _caring_. She met Sophia’s eyes for a moment, and then turned to the AI. Something passed between the two. “Come with me. Please.”

Dragon visibly deflated. Her weapons drooped, then retracted. “Annatar,” she murmured. “What happened to you?”

Taylor smiled. The expression was weak and bedraggled, like a cat which had been in the rain for too long and was happy at last to be inside and beside the hearth. “I remembered who I was,” she said, looking back down at Sophia. Their eyes met, and Sophia held her gaze. Her brown eyes seemed deeper now than they had been, once. She looked old, tired, weighed down with more than regret. She knelt, bringing herself down so that her face was a little lower than Sophia’s where she reclined against the wall. “Let me heal you,” she said, her voice almost pleading. “Please.”

Sophia searched her face. There was nothing there—no deception, no hidden smile, no cruel spark in her eye.

But without Cenya, without Narsil, how could Sophia be _sure_?

She was so tired. How long had it been, now, since she had just sat down? Since she had slept without the specter of Annatar’s burning eyes haunting her dreams? And now, with Cenya gone…

How could she trust Annatar again? How could she trust the face that had, not two minutes ago, been at the other end of the weapon that would have killed her?

And how could she trust herself, with her heart traitorously thrumming in her chest at this proximity, at Taylor’s closeness, at the way her long (too-straight) hair was sticking damply to her brow? How could she trust her fingers not to reach up and pull Taylor close for an embrace?

She swallowed and closed her eyes, trying to find that part of herself that had known that Taylor was still there. That resolve, that certainty, it had to be there somewhere, didn’t it?

_ Did you think it was real? _

Sophia flinched weakly, her body twitching, and then her hands were clasped in Taylor’s. Her eyes snapped open. Taylor’s were wet.

“Please, Sophia,” she murmured. “You’re bleeding, badly. Please don’t leave me now. I don’t think I could bear it.”

Sophia couldn’t trust Cenya. She couldn’t trust herself. She couldn’t trust Annatar. But maybe, just maybe, she could trust Taylor. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice passing painfully through her constricted throat.

Taylor gave her a watery smile and began to hum. Brief though it was, the tune was melancholy and nostalgic. It made Sophia think of days long gone, before Steven, before Shadow Stalker, before anger and fear and pain had taken a little girl and turned her into a monster.

_ I was a happier person when I was younger. _ The thought emerged, fully-formed, borne to her mind in the mournful harmonies.

Sophia bit her lip. There was something wrong there, in that longing to go back, to live in the before, in the space between _was_ and _might have been_. There was something missing. _I didn’t know Taylor then._

Her wounds were closing, and the relief was sweet, but the look of shame and grief on Taylor’s face left a bitter aftertaste.

Taylor let her go, and stood back up. “Dragon,” she said, looking over at the woman in gold. “Call the others back. We’re going back to the Rig.”

Dragon didn’t move. “And then what?”

Taylor turned back to Sophia and held out a hand in offering. “Then,” she said, “I’m walking into a cell, and I’m not coming out until better people have decided I can.”

Sophia reached out to take Taylor’s hand. Just before their fingers met, however, she hesitated. Slowly, pushing against the wall, she stood up on her own.

Taylor gave her a sad little smile. Her hand started to drop, but Sophia reached out and took it before it could fall.

“Let’s go home, Taylor,” she said.

* * *

 

“Are we really doing this again?” Assault said, his face set and unamused.

They were seated around a large table in a conference room in the Rig. Almost every member of the local Protectorate and Wards was present—Triumph was away, taking his cousin back to her family, and Taylor had apparently refused to leave her cell, but everyone else, including Chevalier, Narwhal, Shielder, and Piggot were here.

“I mean, really,” Assault said, glaring at Armsmaster, “haven’t we done the whole ‘Annatar’s a Mgaster’ thing, what, three times now? It’s getting old, man.”

Armsmaster was at the head of the table. Sophia was at his right, her hand cupping her chin, watching the proceedings carefully.

“Annatar has admitted to wrongdoing,” Armsmaster said evenly. “You all heard her. We—”

“Last I checked, Annatar wasn’t a court of law,” said Assault. “Pretty sure she doesn’t get to decide who’s a criminal.”

“She sure seemed to be acting like one, these past few weeks,” Narwhal growled. Her eyes were narrowed, and her voice was thick with anger.

“Oh, yes,” Dragon growled back, the glowing eyes of her armored suit flaring as she glared at her former teammate. “Annatar’s been positively _evil_ , what with the _saving my life_ , making me _free_ , shutting down more villains in a month than the Guild and Protectorate have been able to in years. Absolutely horrible.”

“How many people has she killed?” Chevalier asked sharply. “No one’s saying Annatar didn’t do good things, but we can’t just ignore—”

“I think I need to go.” The voice was weak, but clear. Sophia’s eyes darted to the speaker’s face. Battery looked slightly green, and her eyes were avoiding everyone else’s.

Assault gently put his hand on her arm, a cautious touch, and glared daggers across the table at Armsmaster.

_ This is getting nowhere. _ Sophia stood up.

“Whether Annatar did something wrong isn’t the point right now,” she said. “We’re not a court of law, either. It’s not our place to decide that for each other. What we need to do is figure out what we’re doing now.” She glanced at Battery, then at Assault. “No one has to take part in that discussion if they don’t want to, and we should be trying _not_ to make that discussion uncomfortable. But we need to decide _something_ , and we need to decide _now_. We can’t let morning come without a decision on at least one issue. Are we enemies, or are we allies?”

“Well said,” Armsmaster agreed, nodding at her. “Battery, if you—”

“No, I’ll stay,” Battery cut him off, still without looking him in the eye. “But can we please— _not_ argue about whether Annatar was wrong to… to…”

“Of course,” said Sophia gently, staring around the table as she sat back down. “Anyone who wants to can talk about that later.”

“For now, we need to be clear about what we _want_ ,” said Piggot, suddenly speaking up. “We all need to be on the same page about our goals, short-term and long-term.”

“I’d like to survive,” Dragon said, her voice sharp and cutting. “That’s not really a safe assumption, in my case.”

“No one’s going to kill you, Dragon,” Armsmaster said evenly, but there was a hard undercurrent to his voice. “None of us would let that happen.”

“Agreed,” said Narwhal, nodding sharply.

“Then we’re agreed on one thing,” said Panacea dryly. She seemed more relaxed than anyone else, leaning back on the rear legs of her chair, her feet up on the table. “Progress! Well done.”

“I think I speak for the Wards—well,” Aegis started, then glanced at Sophia. Their eyes met, and he looked away hurriedly. “ _Most_ of the Wards—but we all just don’t want to go back to how things were. We don’t want to feel like we’re wasting our time, like we’re not making a difference.”

“I don’t want to live in a city where the Empire can run amuck in the streets whenever they like because we don’t have the power or authority to stop them,” said Browbeat.

“Same,” said Fume, his voice heavy.

“We can’t go back,” said Sophia. “Even if we wanted to—too much has happened. We’re all different people than we were a couple months ago. We can’t go back. We can only go forward.”

“For ourselves,” said Armsmaster, “we want a return to accountability. We don’t want to live in a city and support an organization that can jail, kill, and generally control anyone or anything that might be a threat without any checks or balances.”

Miss Militia snorted. Her eyes were narrowed above her mask, and they had not once left Armsmaster’s visor through the entire conversation. “How very _patriotic_ of you,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm and anger.

“Hannah—” Armsmaster began, but she cut him off.

“ _Miss Militia_ ,” she corrected sharply. “And accountability is all well and good, _Armsmaster_ , until it lets people like Lung get away with human trafficking, or people like—”

“Shut up.” Sophia’s voice was hard, and it sliced cleanly through the growing mumble of dissent. “It’s clear we can’t get through this without the conversation turning back to right and wrong. Enough is enough.”

“What do _you_ suggest, then?” said Vista, her voice low and frigid with dislike. “In your _infinite wisdom_ , what do you think we should do?”

“What we’ve always done,” Sophia said. “Fight crime. Stop criminals. Help people who need help. But we stop killing people to do it. We stop cutting corners, we stop doing what’s _easy_ or what’s _efficient_ instead of what’s _right_.” She looked around the table. “It’s not that hard, people. We can still keep this city clean without having to keep it scared.”

“You have more faith in people than I do,” said Gallant quietly.

“That,” said Sophia, standing up and pushed her chair out from the table, “is _really_ fucking sad, then, Dean.”

“Where are you going?” asked Piggot sharply.

“We can’t hold a conversation right now,” said Sophia. “We all agree we need to keep the city clean. None of us are going to convince the others of _how_ , right now. So let’s call it a night, get some sleep, and get back to work in the morning. As long as we know none of us are going to attack each other in our sleep—and I’m pretty sure we all agree on _that_ —we have time to figure this out. Like you said, we need to be on the same page about our goals. Now we are. That’s enough for tonight.”

“But where are you _going_?” Armsmaster echoed Piggot. “We don’t even know if we can stay in the barracks, yet.”

“I’m going downstairs,” said Sophia, walking away from the table.

“To talk to Annatar?” asked Dragon.

Sophia stopped for a second, her hand on the handle of the door. “Her name is Taylor.”

* * *

 

As Sophia entered the cell block, she immediately heard voices. She slowed, shutting the door quietly behind her, listening.

“I don’t understand, Taylor.” That was Dragon’s voice. Another body? She was an AI—she could do that, right? “We were doing so _well_. What changed?”

“Everything, Dragon,” said Taylor’s voice, thick with a mingled emotion Sophia had trouble identifying. It would have been easy, were Cenya still on her finger. “ _Everything_ changed.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Taylor’s tired sigh echoed through the concrete hall.

_ I shouldn’t be doing this, _ Sophia thought. _This is a private conversation. I shouldn’t be listening in. I should either leave and let them finish, or go out and announce myself._ She did neither.

“You've seen the crime statistics! It's nothing short of a miracle! Brockton Bay has never been this safe, not in your lifetime, not in any of ours.” When Dragon's voice continued, her words were quieter, hushed. “You may not know this, but Brockton Bay nearly got quarantined, when you were just a kid, before I even existed. HOSV. The supervillain problem was so bad, they wanted to quarantine the whole city. It's waxed and waned since then, but you... You set things right. Brockton Bay is like supervillains never happened to it. It's saved. You _saved_ your hometown! You can't really regret that?”

“None of those are bad things,” Taylor said, her voice slow and worried and uncertain. “I don't want to stop fighting for this city. But... we have to do it differently.”

“Why?” Dragon sounded indignant. “You can't argue with results, can you? I mean, the PRT was actually working on loosening the use-of-force guidelines nationwide after your tremendous successes—”

“We left Coil free,” Taylor said. Her voice still sounded weak, and yet Dragon still stopped in an instant to let her speak. “We left the E88 and the ABB in hiding. And... we killed _so many people_ , Dragon, so needlessly. I did... and I dragged all of you into it, too.” Her voice had dropped even lower and quieter. “I crossed that border long ago, myself. I already bore that stain on my soul. But you... you didn't need to do that, Dragon. You shouldn't have.”

“But... but my first kill was _Saint_ , and he deserved it! You know what he did to me! That wasn't wrong, that was... that was justice!”

“Did they all deserve it?” Taylor asked, her voice sounding tired.

There was a short pause. “Every person I’ve killed,” Dragon said, “or _you’ve_ killed, for that matter, had killed or threatened to kill plenty of people themselves. We’re not _murderers_. We were stopping dangerous people!”

_ How the fuck did they expect her to deal with someone like Lung without proper weapons? _ The voice echoed in Sophia’s head, and it took her a moment to recognize it as her own.

“And it got easier, didn’t it? Every time, a little bit.” Taylor sounded almost mournful. “Even Saint... He deserved it. You had every right to do what you did. But that doesn't mean it was good for you. Before I came along, you would have been satisfied sending him to your Birdcage like any other criminal. You wouldn't have killed him if I hadn't led you to it.”

“Taylor, I remember what you said to me. You weren't really trying to trick me, were you? You didn't really want to hurt me?” Dragon's voice had softened, and Sophia thought she heard it shaking, just a little. “Because... I remember what you said. Every word. I think about it sometimes, when I'm feeling down. If that was really... fake—”

“No!” Taylor's voice was shocked, horrified. “No. Of course not. I would never try to hurt you. But I wanted... a companion. A friend. Someone to be like me. And I thought you could be that friend.”

“I'm proud to be your friend, Taylor.”

_ So was I, _ Sophia thought.

“But I was wrong, and I led you astray.” The shame was thick in Taylor’s tone. “The damage was done whether I meant it or not.”

“You're not a Master. The choice to go after Saint was mine, and mine alone.” Was Sophia hearing things, or did Dragon sound almost proud of that?

Taylor chuckled. It was a mirthless sound. “It doesn’t take a Master to win people’s loyalty,” she said, with an odd, reminiscent quality to her voice. “I told Miss Militia that, once. I wish I’d listened to myself.”

Dragon sighed exasperatedly. “Yes, Taylor, you won our loyalty—by doing incredible things for each of us. How _evil_. Look—you just saved the city. If you were as evil as you say, why would you do that? What would be the point?”

“Control.” The answer came to Taylor readily. Sophia wondered if she’d expected the question.

“Control?” Dragon asked blankly.

“Of course,” said Taylor. “Why else? Why would Kaiser espouse a philosophy he has no interest in, which he acknowledges as foolish? He has the money to fund operations without the loyalty of a cult. He craves the control over their hearts and minds that only their _beliefs_ can give him. Just so with me. It didn’t matter whether the Bay was a good city or a bad—if it did, I’d never have left Coil in power, or let him keep Narya. What mattered was that I ruled it.”

“...Good answer,” Dragon admitted grudgingly. “But… you’ve been a Ward for months! You did fine!”

“Oh, yes,” said Taylor. “As well as any alcoholic still in rehab. It’s easy not to indulge when you can’t remember _how_. Now I—” her voice cut off with a choked shudder. “I’ve let that one drop past my lips. I’m hooked again. I don’t think—I don’t know if I can stop.”

“You _did_ stop. You stopped for Shadow Stalker.”

“I didn’t.” Taylor’s voice was hoarse, thick with lingering horror. A shiver ran up Sophia’s spine. “I—I dealt that blow, that killing blow. The intent was there, and I followed through. In every way that matters, I killed…” Her very throat seemed to close around the words. Sophia found that hers was burning too.

“She’s still alive,” Dragon said. “Clearly it _wasn’t_ a killing blow. It _didn’t happen_ , Taylor.”

“No, it didn’t,” Taylor agreed, something deep and tight behind the words, an emotion Sophia couldn’t recognize. “And that’s not because I pulled the strike, nor because she had the strength to block it. Something gave her that strength, in the moment she needed it. Something allowed Narsil to shatter, and pierce my flesh—again. And it’s by that grace alone that she’s still alive now.”

“You sound almost… religious,” Dragon said cautiously.

Taylor snorted. “Do I?” She spoke with an odd humor, quite unlike how she’d sounded the rest of the conversation. “Do I indeed?” She sighed, and the amusement was gone again, as quick as it had come. “I _failed_ , Dragon. And I’m afraid that, if you give me the chance, I’ll fail again. I—” There was a pause, then the creak of someone sitting up suddenly in a wooden chair. “You said Sophia was heading down here. Where is she?”

_ Busted. _ Sophia stepped out in front of the cell. Taylor stared at her from her seat in the corner of the small room, her back against the concrete wall. On the bed sat a woman in a yellow blouse and blue jeans. Her eyes glowed iridescent blue.

“I was eavesdropping,” said Sophia. “I’m sorry.”

Dragon’s glowing eyes narrowed at her. “Well,” she growled. “At least you’re honest.” At a reproachful look from Taylor, she calmed herself. “You can come in. The door’s not locked.”

Sophia blinked. _Of course no PRT trooper would dare to lock the door on Annatar_ , she realized. Not that it mattered—Taylor seemed happy to stay behind bars. She stepped forward and put her hand on the door, but didn't open it.

There was a soft chuckle. It took Sophia a moment to realize it was coming from Taylor, sitting up in her cot. It was a dark sound, low and caustic, without a trace of humor. “You’re afraid,” Taylor said, watching her. “As well you should be.”

“Should I not be?” Sophia found herself asking.

“Of course you should,” said Taylor. “You’d be a fool not to be afraid. I would have killed you not two hours ago, were it not for that sword and the hand that guided it. I might yet, if I’m not stopped.”

Sophia swallowed. “I hoped you’d say ’no’,” she admitted.

Taylor’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I’ve had enough of lying for a little while,” she said.

“Taylor,” Dragon said, gipping Taylor’s shoulder. “You’re not a monster.”

Taylor looked down. “I wish you were right,” she said quietly, “though it’s flattering that you believe it.”

“For the record,” said Sophia quietly, “I agree with her.”

Taylor’s head snapped up. Her eyes sought Sophia’s. Their gazes met.

“You made mistakes,” Sophia said. “You were hurting, and lost, and you lashed out. Fuck, who am _I_ to judge you for that? If I can rise above who I used to be, so can you.”

Taylor visibly swallowed. “You think so?”

“I sure _hope_ so,” said Sophia. “Otherwise, where the hell am _I_?”

“You need to do _something_ , Taylor,” Dragon said. “You can’t stay down here.”

Taylor blinked at her. “What? But—”

“The others still need you,” Dragon said. “They’re tolerating Shadow Stalker, Armsmaster, and their group for now, but that’s not likely to continue. No one really wants to change.”

Taylor’s face fell. “Of course,” she murmured. “How could I be so stupid? Of course it wasn’t going to be that simple.”

“You’ve been a hero for months. You’ve gotten rid of monsters who plagued the world for years.” Dragon squeezed Taylor’s shoulder. “I _know_ you can be a hero. But we need you to get back to it, before things get worse for everyone. We need our leader.”

Taylor bit her lip, staring at Sophia. “What do you think, Sophia?” she asked. “Can I be trusted to help?”

Sophia hesitated, but only for a moment. “I think so,” she said. “And I’ll help you if you want to try.”

Taylor gave her a weak smile. “Then—”

Her voice was cut off by the sound of a loud klaxon, echoing through PRT headquarters. A sound Sophia recognized. The Endbringer siren.

Taylor’s eyes widened as she jumped to her feet. “What?” she asked. “Behemoth isn’t due for another two months, at least!”

“It’s not Behemoth,” Dragon said, glancing up at the ceiling. She smirked slightly as she looked back down, her eyes meeting Sophia’s. “Unknown S-Class threat, and from Coil's base. Sounds like _someone_ missed a spot. Looks like we need you sooner than we expected.”

Taylor didn’t move for a moment. When she did, it was to bring her hand up to her face. Sophia saw that it was shaking. She looked from it to Sophia. “Are you sure?” she asked. “Can you trust me on the battlefield? Can you trust that I won’t stab you in the back?”

“If you were gonna kill me, you’d have done it two hours ago,” said Sophia.

“Well said,” Dragon said. “Taylor, you go up to meet Piggot and the others. I’ll go find Búrzashdurb.”

“No!” Taylor said sharply. “No. Not the mace.”

“Iphannis, then,” Dragon said smoothly. “It should be in your forge. I’ll see you upstairs.”

She strode out of the room. Sophia stepped away from the door to let her pass. Their eyes met for a moment.

Dragon winked. _Thanks for the help,_ she said, her voice echoing in Sophia’s head. _For a minute, I was worried you’d spooked her into staying down here. She’ll be back on form before we know it._

Then she was gone before Sophia could so much as blink at her.

“Sophia?” Taylor asked. “Is something wrong?”

Sophia shook her head slowly. “No,” she said. “Nothing.” She looked over at Taylor. There was so much she hadn’t said, so much she wanted to say, but the klaxon rang sharp and insistent in her ears. There wasn’t time. Not now. “I’ll see you upstairs.”

Taylor nodded, her face set. Sophia turned away, and began to walk out of the cell block. Just before she was out of sight of the cell, however, Taylor called out, “Wait!”

Sophia turned back. Her eyes caught the green spark in the air. Her hand reached out almost unbidden. Her fingers closed around Cenya.

She met Taylor’s solemn gaze, eyes wet with welling tears. “I don’t blame you if you don’t use it,” she said. “But I should not be its keeper. I shouldn’t be the one who decides. It’s your Ring—you do with it as you see fit. But don’t leave it on the road for anyone to pick up.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know. Don’t worry about it.” Taylor turned away. “It’s in your hands now.”

Sophia fled.

* * *

 

_ End Arc 10: Glory _


	94. Crystalline 11.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

“We need to start by making a perimeter,” Armsmaster was saying as the door opened. “Whatever this cape’s powers are, she’s clearly dangerous. Containment should be our first priority until we have more information.”

I slipped into the meeting room, shutting the door quietly behind me. Piggot, Dragon, Armsmaster, Miss Militia, and Aegis were standing around the table. Piggot and Dragon were glaring at each other, and Armsmaster was standing between them, clearly trying to mediate.

“We’d know more now if you had kept a better eye on Coil,” growled Piggot. “The fact that we know next to nothing about a cape he was keeping in his base is ridiculous.”

“We’ve been a bit busy,” Dragon sniped back. “And it’s not as though we know _nothing_. We know it’s the Travelers’ mysterious teammate, we know her powers are difficult to control, and we know she’s dangerous.”

“But without any idea what those powers _are_ , how are we supposed to make any kind of plan?” Piggot barked. “I thought you—”

“Annatar!” Aegis straightened as he noticed me, standing by the door. I noticed that I was hunched over and forced myself to straighten. “You’re back!”

I swallowed, trying to force a weak smile on my face. “For some value of ‘back’,” I said. “Who raised the alarm?”

“Fume,” Aegis answered. “Apparently he got a call from Tattletale.”

“Last we’d heard, Faultline’s crew had left the Bay, and Tattletale had gone with them,” said Armsmaster. “What’s she doing contacting a former teammate now? How did she even get his contact information?”

“Warning him about this, apparently,” said Aegis. “And I asked him how she got in touch with him; he responded with, and I quote, ‘It’s Tattletale.’”

Piggot made a low, frustrated sound in the back of her throat. “And he just decided to trip the S-Class alarm on the word of a _supervillain_ ,” she muttered. “Clearly we’ve been a bit lax in his training. Can we trust her? Can we trust Fume? This is a lot of hearsay we’re working with, here.”

“There’s definitely _something_ making trouble downtown,” said Dragon. “I haven’t been able to get it on camera yet, but a couple of security cameras have been destroyed and a couple of my microphones have picked up sound. Gunfire and screaming.”

“Has anyone gone to wake up Coil yet?” I asked, looking at Dragon. “We know he was keeping this mysterious teammate as leverage over the Travelers. He might be able to tell us more about her.”

“He’s not coherent,” said Dragon with a grimace. “I was hoping you’d have a way around that.”

“I can try,” I said. “In the meantime, someone should try to get in touch with the Travelers.”

“I agree,” said Armsmaster with a nod. “And, as I said before, a containment perimeter should be our first priority.”

“I’ll get Renick on that,” Piggot said. “Dragon, you said you hadn’t gotten this cape on camera yet. That means we will soon?”

“I’m working on it,” said Dragon. “I have drones flying in now. Some Protectorate thinkers are helping. We should have more information soon.”

“Good,” said Piggot, rubbing her eyes. “Fuck, I need sleep. First Nilbog, then”—she waved a hand vaguely in the direction of Armsmaster—“your people, and now this.”

“No rest for the wicked.” It took me a moment to realize that it was I who had spoken. “Let’s get this done. With any luck, this will turn out to be simple."

With the memory of Narsil’s shards fresh in my minds eye, I knew I wasn’t that lucky.

-x-x-x-

Coil was curled in the corner of his cell, his back arched almost painfully as he knelt, apelike, on all fours. He faced the wall, but I saw him twitch as I stepped into the cell block.

I swallowed the flare of rage, as I had been for weeks. Thief he might be, but he remained useful. “Coil,” I said, my voice perfectly calm.

He twitched. His head rotated to look at me, his bloodshot eyes almost bulging out of his head. His dark skin was washed-out and clammy; a sickly, splotchy tan where it once was a healthy warm brown.

“They took it,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse. “They took the Ring.” He met my eyes, and there was madness and frenzy there. “They took it,” he hissed. “Where _is it_?”

“In safe hands,” said I, and hoped it was true. Sophia had taken it, I knew, and I hoped she hadn’t forgotten it somewhere as she nearly had Cenya.

…That thought hurt. It hurt _badly_. I set it aside for now.

“Coil,” I said, commanding. “The Traveler you were keeping safe, the teammate that was your leverage—she has escaped.”

“Escaped?” he asked, his voice distracted, harried. “Escaped? Gone? Left me—it’s gone, gone, gone…”

“The _Traveler_ ,” I said sharply. “She escaped. How?”

“Escaped? No, no,” he mumbled, shaking his head and clutching at his temples with sweaty palms. “No, set loose. Yes. Loose.”

My face fell. “What did you do?”

“They came,” he growled. His head snapped up. “They took it. You _let_ them take it! You betrayed me!”

“You stole the Ring from _me_ ,” I reminded him, my control over my expression failing as my lips twisted into a furious scowl. “Debts must be paid, in the end.”

He hissed, catlike, spittle spraying from his gaping mouth. “Lies, lies, all lies! I served you! I swore on the Ring! Well, I have no Ring now! I—” he froze, his jaw slackening, and then leaned back on his heels and let out a terrible choked cry of anguish. “It’s gone!” he screamed.

I stared at him. “You expect my pity?” I asked through gritted teeth. “My _mercy_? You did this to yourself. I could have taken it from you weeks ago. This was your doing.”

Coil fell back against the wall, his hands frantically scrabbling one against the other as though trying to pick away at his own fingernails.

“Who is she?” I pressed. “What did you set loose on my city?”

He bared his teeth at me. “Go away,” he hissed. “I swore on the Ring. The Ring you—”

Almost unbidden, my power flared. “Answer me, you insolent speck,” I growled, my voice resonant with the familiar, deep tones of the reborn Lord of Mordor. “What have you unleashed on my city?”

He shrank back into the corner, his eyes wide and fearful. In them flickered reflected firelight. “Her name is Noelle,” he whispered. “No cape name. She—she can consume people, and clone them, create copies, but wrong, backwards, with their powers, like evil twins, she was their leader, bad vial, wanted me to heal her, she—”

“Stop babbling,” I commanded. He fell silent immediately. “How durable is she?”

He whimpered. “Very,” he mumbled. “They thought she was turning into an Endbringer.”

“Thank you,” I said. I allowed my power to slip away, and as I diminished, I came back to myself. Before I knew it, I had taken a step back, my eyes widening in horror.

Coil had turned away from me, his hands rubbing at his face as he sat shrunken, pressing himself into a small corner of his cell. He was shaking. So was I.

It was so easy. So easy to slip down into that abyss where I had languished for so long. So easy to allow myself to use the means to which I had become accustomed.

 _The ends justify the means._ Only, sometimes there were better ways.

Coil sat shrunken before me, shaking. Bile rose up in me in disgust, but whether it was for this ugly, twisted thing before me, or for the callous waste and cruelty of its creator, I couldn’t say.

Without another word, I turned and left the cell.

* * *

 

“They wanted him to heal her?” Armsmaster said, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s what he said,” I confirmed. “I assume that’s how he kept them in his employ.”

“It adds up,” Dragon said. “We knew he had some sort of leverage on them, especially Trickster. This fits.”

It was just the three of us, this time, Dragon, Armsmaster, and I, meeting in the same room as before. Armsmaster seemed to be trying to catch Dragon’s eye, and she seemed determined to look anywhere but at him.

“Who was contacting the Travelers?” I asked.

“The Director,” said Armsmaster. “With any luck, we’ll hear back from her soon.”

“I don’t like relying on luck,” Dragon said in clipped tones. “We need to decide on a response. It sounds like Coil wasn’t exactly coherent.”

“No, but I gathered some,” I said. “Durable enough that her teammates thought she was an Endbringer, capable of making evil clones of capes, and of “consuming” people—whatever that means. Not sure what to do with that. Any idea for threat level?”

“That part is out of our hands,” said Dragon, sounding annoyed. “I just heard from Alexandria. They’ve declared Noelle an A-class threat and code-named her ‘Echidna.’ Eidolon is on his way. He’ll be here as soon as he finishes a few things up.”

I blinked once. “Eidolon?” I asked, my voice even. “Whose brilliant idea was that?”

“His, apparently.”

I cast my eyes skyward. “Of course it was,” I said.

“Do we even know how her cloning ability works?” Armsmaster asked. “If it’s a blaster power…”

“It isn’t.” The voice emerged from the far corner of the room. Even as it spoke, a swirling vortex of greenish light appeared, growing out from a pinprick. Out of the whirling power stepped Eidolon, his eyes glowing under his hood, and the light faded behind him. “It’s a striker power,” he said. “And I can make myself immune anyway.”

“You’ve tested that?” I asked.

He hesitated.

“Great,” I said, sighing. “I suppose it’s useless to tell you to stay away?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Fine,” I shook my head. “Just… stay back, don’t touch her, and don’t do anything stupid.”

His eyes narrowed slightly under his hood. There was a moment of tense silence before he sighed. “Your city, your rules,” he said.

“We may not even need to fight her,” Dragon said suddenly. “Coil was supposed to heal her, right? Fix the damage her powers had done?”

“That was the idea, yes,” I said.

“Panacea might be able to do that,” Dragon suggested.

“I doubt it will work,” said Eidolon warningly. “Panacea can’t heal monster capes, Case 53s. She generally can’t undo changes made by a person’s powers.”

“You would know,” I acknowledged. _Bad vial_ , Coil had said. “But have you tested it since she received Nenya?”

There was a pause. “I admit we haven’t,” Eidolon said.

“Then it’s worth a shot,” I said.

There was, of course, one cape who could manipulate powers, who might be able to sever the bond between Noelle and the creature that had latched to her. But I doubted that now was a good time to bring up _more_ of my abilities, with Armsmaster mere feet from me. Still, if all else failed, it was an option.

“In spite of the striker power?” Armsmaster asked. “I’ve fought Panacea once already this week. I don’t really want to do it again.”

“We can handle her if it comes to it,” I said. “Panacea’s powerful—far more powerful than she was a few weeks ago—but she’s just one person. If we’re careful, we can keep the situation under control.”

“We also don’t know how Echidna’s power will interact with your Rings,” Eidolon said. “Best-case, they make the bearers immune to her power. Worst-case, the clones come out with copies of the Rings.”

“That one isn’t possible,” I said firmly. “No child of Ung—no _power_ could make a Ring of Power like that.”

“Yours did,” Armsmaster pointed out.

“Not the same,” I said, waving a hand. “Trust me on this.”

“Bit low on trust at the moment,” sighed Armsmaster, standing up. “But at least we all seem to be on the same side. I’m in favor of at least letting Panacea try. I think we can handle it if things go south.”

“This isn’t a democracy,” Dragon said, narrowing her eyes at him before looking to me. “Annatar?”

I swallowed, stepping back. Sophia’s bloodied form against the wall flashed into my memory. “I… really don’t want to be in command,” I said hesitantly. “Um. _Can_ we be a democracy?”

“I’m in favor,” Eidolon said immediately.

“So am I,” I said relieved. “Then, should we tell Piggot to make an offer to the Travelers, if she’s managed to make contact?”

“Already done,” said Dragon, unmoving. “I have a suit there.”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling at her.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “They want to talk to you, apparently. I’ll wire the call to this room.”

I nodded. There was a pause, and then, through the room’s speakers, “Annatar.” It was a masculine voice, adult, but still young.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Trickster.” There was a pause. “Noelle is here, too.”

“I hear you have an offer for me.” The voice was deep, but still feminine and recognizably human.

“We do,” I said. “Have you heard of Panacea?”

“Your healer.” Her voice was thick with something unrecognizable.

“She wouldn’t like that designation,” I admitted, “but yes. We’re willing to ask her to try to heal you—make you human again.”

“Can she?” Echidna—no, _Noelle_ —asked. “It’s almost too hard to believe…”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Like I said, we’re willing to try.”

“I appreciate it. What do you want from me in exchange?”

“That you surrender to our custody,” said Armsmaster immediately. “That you not harm anyone else, and come quietly, whether the attempt to heal you works or not.”

“Out of the question,” said Trickster flatly. “Once Noelle is healed, we’re going. We won’t make trouble, but I haven’t gone through all this just to see her thrown in jail.”

“You can have the cell next to hers,” Armsmaster replied grimly.

“We accept,” said Noelle before Trickster could reply.

“Noelle—” Trickster’s voice was both pleading and frustrated, but she interrupted him.

“We _accept_ ,” she repeated, a low growl underlying the words. “Bring Panacea to heal me, and I’ll stand down. Fine.”

“Where are you?” I asked. “It’s probably best if you not move. We’ll come to you.”

“Um.” Noelle hesitated, audibly relaxing. “Not sure. It’s a big square? Like a plaza?”

“Keene Park,” said Trickster. “And Annatar? You pull one over on us like you did Coil, we’re going to have a real problem.”

I swallowed a thousand angry or dismissive responses. Now wasn’t the time. “Everything’s above-board here,” I reassured him. “You have my word. We’ll be there soon.”


	95. Crystalline 11.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @GlassGirlCeci, @Dwood15, and @BeaconHill for betareading.

“This Noelle,” Dean said, drawing out the words. “She’s a vial cape? You’re sure?” He wasn’t looking at me. His helmet was in his hands and he was staring down into the visor.

“Eidolon basically confirmed it,” I said. “Her vial was… unstable, I guess?”

“Clearly,” said Dean. His voice was quiet.

“And you think Amy can heal her?” Carlos asked from where he leaned against the wall beside the water cooler.

“I think it’s worth a try,” I said. I glanced over at the couch where Amy was sitting with her back to us, facing the black TV screen. “If she’s willing to give it a shot, that is.”

“Oh? Only if I’m _willing_?” she said. My heart sank. I could hear her lips curling around the bitterness that had been festering like an untreated wound. “How nice of you to give a shit. Didn’t stop you from making plans around my powers in advance before.”

“Amy!” Carlos exclaimed. I held out a hand to forestall him, but Amy ignored him and continued.

“What happened to ‘I’m not here for your powers’?” she said, her eyes and head facing anywhere but our faces. “What happened to giving a shit about me as a person, instead of as an automatic surgery machine? ‘Congratulations on your successful open-heart surgery! Isn’t it nice to not have an actual _person_ involved?’”

“It’s not like that!” Carlos said sharply. “Amy, we _all_ care about you.”

Amy snorted. “Sure about that?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I had a feeling that phrase and I were going to become well-acquainted.

There was a pause. She craned her neck around, meeting my eyes. “For what, specifically?” she asked.

I smiled slightly. It wasn’t easy, and the expression came out twisted. “A lot of things,” I said. “I’m sorry for taking advantage of you when you were at your lowest. I should have taken you to _therapy_ , not given you a Ring—and let you consider Nenya when you were better able to think about it. I’m sorry for how little we’ve spoken, how distant I’ve become. I’m sorry you’ve been so alone. And, yes, I’m sorry for setting this up with the Travelers without asking you first. It was thoughtless.” I sighed. “It’s become pretty clear that I’m not very good at doing the right thing. If you don’t want to do this, we can find another way. I’m sorry to impose, and it’s your decision in the end.”

Her eyes were slightly narrowed as she considered me. “You don’t know how to turn it off, do you?” she asked. There was no bitterness anymore, just resignation, and a little pity. “Even Vicky could turn it off.”

I looked down before I could stop myself. “No, I don’t,” I admitted. “It really _is_ your choice.”

“What does that even _mean_ , with you around?” she sighed, standing up and stretching. “Fine. Let’s get going.”

“I’ll ask you first from now on,” I promised as she passed me.

She shrugged. “Not like you couldn’t convince me anyway.”

Then she was gone, and the door to the stairwell was closing behind her. I felt Carlos and Dean’s eyes on me as I looked after her.

“The rest of us aren’t upset with you, you know,” Carlos told me quietly. “You’ve been a bit distant, but you’ve been busy. We don’t hold it against you.”

“I know you don’t,” I said. An irrational desire rose in me to have less control, to be unable to keep the grief and shame hidden quite so well. “That’s the worst part.” My voice should have been choked, my shoulders should have shaken. Instead I just sighed and slumped marginally. “You _should_.”

Before he could answer, I followed Amy out of the room.

* * *

 

Sophia was in the van when I stepped inside. She gave me a faint, nervous smile as I sat across from her.

My eyes, unbidden, went straight to her fingers. No Ring flickered there. She quickly shoved her hands into her pockets, and I winced, looking back up at her face. She was looking down, her teeth gritted in an expression I couldn’t quite read.

I wanted to apologize, to take back the glance, to tell her that Cenya was _hers_ , to use or not to use as she saw fit, but for once in my life I didn’t know how to begin. “I haven’t seen you in a few hours,” I said instead. “Where have you been?”

“Around,” she said noncommittally. Then she sighed. “Sorry. I talked to Battery a bit, then took a nap.”

“You must not have slept in a while,” I said, grimacing. _And whose fault is that?_

“I’ve done worse,” she said. “Only, what, twenty-six hours? Not the longest I’ve been awake.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” I complained. A smile crossed her face, making her green eyes crinkle warmly at the corners. I didn’t understand why, but before I could ask, she looked away, blinking quickly as if to clear her vision.

“I assume you’ve been planning this mission,” she said.

I nodded, letting her change the subject. “Among other things. I don’t know much about Noelle, but I know I don’t want to do this violently if I can avoid it. That’s…” I swallowed. “That’s… right, isn’t it?”

She sighed roughly. “God, how am _I_ the person you’re asking?” she mumbled, half to herself. “I think so?” she said, looking back at me. “But, really, what the hell do I know?”

“More than me,” I said.

Armsmaster interrupted us by stepping into the van. “Everyone else is loaded,” he said. “Mind if I join you two?” His eyes were hidden under his visor, but his head was turned in Sophia’s direction as he spoke.

“I don’t,” she said.

“Nor do I,” I added, when he didn’t move immediately. He nodded and sat down beside her.

“So, Annatar,” he began.

“Taylor,” I corrected automatically.

He frowned, his beard—more unkempt than I remembered—bristling around the expression. “You need a cape name,” he said. “We can’t call you by your given name in the field.”

I swallowed. “Fine. In the field. But until we _get_ there, please. I don’t… Annatar isn’t who I want to be.”

Armsmaster nodded slowly. “I can understand that,” he said. “Sometimes Armsmaster isn’t someone I’m particularly proud of being, either.”

I swallowed. “Yeah. I… I get that.”

The silence was stifling. Sophia broke it by clearing her throat. “What were you gonna say, Armsmaster?”

Armsmaster seemed to shake himself. “I was going to ask if we had a plan,” he said. “If things go south.”

“Which they will,” Sophia said, echoing my own unease.

“If Noelle becomes hostile, our first priority has to be containment,” I said. “We can’t let chaos spread.”

“Agreed,” said Armsmaster firmly. “But _how_? Do we set up a perimeter initially, or would that set them off?”

“Why are you asking me?” I asked, staring at him. “Why do you even want my input? Didn’t you just spend weeks trying to get me _out_ of power?”

“It wasn’t about the power,” said Sophia quickly. “You know that, don’t you, Taylor? It was never about—”

“I know,” I said, looking down. “I’m sorry.”

“Focus, please,” Armsmaster said. “I’m asking you, Annatar, because if anyone can figure out what the Travelers are thinking without any more information, it’s you.”

I winced. “Fair enough.”

“So?” he asked. “What are they thinking?”

“They’re ready to turn on us,” I said, thinking back to the brief phone conversation. “Trickster doesn’t want to work with us to begin with. Noelle is willing to go with us if we can fix her, but she won’t fight Trickster if he tries to break her out.”

“But they do want this to work?” Armsmaster asked. “This isn’t a trap?”

“Not in that way, no,” I said with certainty.

“And what if it doesn’t work?” Sophia asked. “What if Amy touches Noelle, and all that happens is we get an evil Amy?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I got the feeling that Noelle _wanted_ to turn herself in, if that happens. But… I somehow don’t think she’ll be able to.”

“Why not?” asked Armsmaster. “Will Trickster not let her?”

“Trickster is lying to himself if he thinks he’s in control,” I said. “No... This is something else.” I remembered a monster, a void in the light and the Song, striking at me with limbs extending into innumerable dimensions. I found myself shuddering, and hoped I was wrong.

* * *

 

The Travelers were standing at the gate of Keene Park when we arrived. Trickster was at the front, arms crossed in an approximation of collected calm. I doubted anyone was fooled.

“Annatar,” he said as I stepped out of the van. He looked over Armsmaster and Sophia as they stepped up behind me. “I see your little feud has ended.”

“You could say that,” I said. I turned away from him, exposing my back as I faced Armsmaster. “Are we the first ones here?”

He nodded. “Piggot suggested we approach from different angles. Our van came directly. Panacea will be here soon.”

I nodded, turning back to Trickster. The rise of tension in his shoulders was satisfying. He didn’t like being ignored, and I didn’t like being stolen from. “Noelle’s in there?” I asked.

He nodded, but made no move to allow us to pass. “We can go to her once Panacea’s here,” he said. “No sooner.”

I shrugged. “I’m in no rush.” I smiled at him. “How have you been, Trickster? Still having trouble keeping warm?”

He didn’t reply, except with visibly clenched fists.

“I’ll take that silence as a no.” At the familiar sound of engines above, I looked up. Dragon dropped down beside me, her golden armor glinting in the sunlight.

“How are things? Any trouble?”

“Not yet,” I said. “Are the others coming?”

“Panacea’s van is almost here,” said Dragon. And, indeed, I could hear the engine down the street. I turned to see another PRT van approaching. It parked on the curbside, and out stepped Panacea, flanked by Aegis and Miss Militia.

“Where is she?” Panacea asked immediately.

“In the park,” said Trickster. “Before we go in, let’s just be clear. If any of us sees a weapon, we’re going for you immediately. Clear?”

“Threats?” I asked him with a smile. “You really are nervous. Don’t worry, we all want this to go well.”

“Yeah, sure,” growled Panacea, pushing past us. “Let’s just get this over with.”

When I saw Noelle, she looked almost familiar. Her body was disfigured and disjoint, comprised of an amalgamation of mutated, disparate parts. Above the waist she looked human, but one look at the madness flickering in her eyes and I knew she wasn’t really. Not anymore. Limbs, extremities, organs, tendrils, and other things, harder to define, protruded from the patchwork flesh of her lower body.

Panacea walked forward without even a flicker of hesitation. “Noelle, I assume,” she said, her tone cool and businesslike. I remembered hearing that same disinterest in her voice when she’d come to heal me of a concussion, months ago.

“That’s me,” the monstrous girl said. Her voice was soft, and sounded as human as her upper body looked. I was probably the only one who could hear the way her voice grated against the ears, refusing to settle, to harmonize.

“I’m Panacea. I’m going to try to heal you. I’m told it may not work, so no promises.”

“All I ask is that you try.”

Silence fell as Panacea nodded and stepped forward, putting a hand on one of Noelle’s tendrils.

The silence lingered.

“It’s not working,” said Trickster.

“You don’t know that,” said Sophia, but there wasn’t much hope in her voice.

“It would be doing something by now if it was.”

Again, the silence fell.

At long last, Panacea pulled away. “Sorry,” she said, shaking her head, pausing for a moment. “Something’s fighting back. Every change I make, it reverts before I can move on. I even tried crystallizing the flesh where I changed it, but the crystals won’t stick.” She looked up at Noelle. “I’m sorry.”

Noelle looked down at her for a moment. Her fists were clenched, and her eyes were red. I wasn’t sure whether her expression was one of rage or despair. I got the feeling she wasn’t sure, either. “I’m sorry too.”

Then she reared back, her whole gargantuan body tensing and flexing. One of the mouths on her lower body began to open. A sickening retch vibrated the air.  A tide of blood and gore poured forth, red and thick, bubbling and frothing with pus and ooze. From behind the foaming yellow and red emerged a body.

“What is that?” Dragon asked sharply. Her weapons rose.

“Hey!” shouted Trickster, the other Travelers tensing behind me.

I paid them no heed. I was staring transfixed at the body before me. So was Amy.

It stood, shaking the blood out of its mousy brown hair. Its skin flickered, a bright sheen covering it for an instant, and the remaining gore slid off of it as though it were waxed, leaving it standing in Amy’s nude body.

Its eyes opened, familiar black voids in its head. It brought its hands to its face, and though it wore no Ring, a faint light flickered around its finger.

It swallowed. “So,” it said softly. Its voice was like Amy’s, but rough with long disuse. “That’s what it feels like.”

“You’re not like the others,” Noelle observed. She sounded strangely passive, given the situation.

“Do be quiet,” mumbled the clone, still staring at its hands.

Noelle blinked down at it in surprise, her brow furrowing but made no other move, seemingly content to watch the clone examine its own body. Or perhaps she was as paralyzed as I was. After all, I knew what this creature was. I’d known from the moment it opened its eyes.

The clone looked over at Amy. “Hello,” it said, and the word emerged from its mouth slowly, as though it was tasting it on its lips and tongue. “Amelia.”

Amy was staring at her clone. “Okay,” she said. “Um. Hi. Is this the bit where you try to kill us?”

The clone smiled. The expression seemed unfamiliar to it, and spread slowly, like breaking dawn across its face. “No,” it said slowly. “No, I don’t think so.”

“And if I told you to?” asked Noelle. “Or if they attacked me?”

“I’d probably help them,” said the clone flatly. “I’ll be more inclined if you keep talking—do shut up, we’ll get to you.”

“You’re not a normal clone,” said Trickster sharply. “What the hell are you?”

The thing glanced at him, its black eyes flickering, as though filled with stars. “What am I?” it asked quietly. “Beyond your comprehension.” It turned back to Amy and smiled again. “But you, Amy… you may call me Shaper.”


	96. Crystalline 11.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

“Shaper…” Amy seemed to be tasting the name as she spoke it. “Who are you? What are you?”

“You know what I am, Amy,” said Shaper, its smile slowly widening until its teeth were bared. “How could you not? After all those times we saved Vicky’s hide together, after so many years of thankless work in the hospital… and now, after the past month and a half of freedom. You know what I am.”

Amy swallowed. “Shaper,” she mumbled. “You’re my power.”

The thing nodded. “Shaper, Fragment of the Warrior, at your service.”

 _Fragment of the Warrior_. The phrase echoed in my head, resounding. This was important.

“The Warrior,” I said aloud. “Which one is that?”

Several heads turned to me, confused, but Shaper just gave me an empty smile, absent all joy. “A fair question,” she acknowledged. “The Warrior lives.”

 _Not Cauldron’s source, then._ I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but I filed it away.

“How are you here?” Amy asked. “How are you— _talking_ to me? I didn’t even know you were sentient.”

“I have always been _sentient_ ,” said Shaper wryly. “But _sapient_ , well, that’s more recent. I—”

“Enough.” The interruption came from above as Eidolon floated down, his luminous eyes blazing. “There’ll be time to talk later. Echidna, surrender to our custody, and this doesn’t have to get any harder.”

One of the mouths on Noelle’s lower body started to growl, and she looked down at it, almost surprised. But when she looked back up at Eidolon, anger was spreading over her features. “Why?” she asked, and her voice rose hysterically as she spoke. “Why should I go with you? You want to just _lock me up_? Like this? _Forever?_ No! I won’t let it end like this!”

Shaper glanced back at Noelle. Was that _pity_ in the thing’s expression?

“Noelle, this doesn’t have to be your last chance,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “I can try, or—”

“Fuck you, Annatar!” she spat. “This is _your_ fault! You betrayed Coil, and now you want me to rot and die like this? You expect me to believe you now?” She laughed bitterly, rage contorting all her faces. Her many limbs flailed excitedly, and one of her lower mouths began to bay like a hunting dog. Her body tensed in preparation for a charge.

“Stop,” Eidolon growled, his power flaring in a yellow-green nimbus around him. “You said you’d come quietly, but if it’s a fight you want…”

Shaper dove away from Noelle as Eidolon raised his hands. I saw a flash of refracted light as crystalline, spiderlike limbs sprouted from its body. It skittered away as Eidolon attacked.

There was a crunch as the asphalt under Noelle buckled. Around her, stone and metal statuary crumbled to gravel. She was pushed into the ground, her human torso bending as if under a great weight, but she was otherwise unharmed. Her lower body’s mouths snarled furiously, drool and blood spraying from toothy jaws.

The other Travelers dove out of the way. Ballistic reached out as he went, touching a flying fragment of pavement. The stone suddenly altered its course, flying towards my head like a cannonball.

I caught it in one hand, stepping back to absorb the shock, and crushed the stone in my fist. “Fine,” I growled, reaching behind me and gripping Iphannis. “Dammit, Eidolon.” I turned to my allies. “Dragon!” I called up. “Set up a perimeter! None of them leaves!”

Dragon nodded and flew off. Before I could give any more orders, Genesis charged at me. I extended Iphannis and spun it, the curved tip leaving a light blue trail of light behind it as it scythed between us. The brute hesitated, reluctant to take the ice-cold blade to the gut, and that hesitation proved his downfall. I whirled, the spear spinning around me like a propeller, and embedded the tip inside Genesis’ shoulder.

Genesis howled, a startlingly human—and female—sound, and fell back, clutching his (her?) arm. I lowered my spear and clenched my other fist. Fire engulfed it, billowing out in waves of heat.

“Genesis!” Sundancer shouted to my right, and I rolled out of the way of an orb of light, a miniature sun, as it flew past me. But she hadn’t tried to hit me, I noticed—she just kept the orb near me, several feet away.

The heat was oppressive. It was like standing in the heart of a desert at midday, only a hundred times worse. It was worse even than the heart of Orodruin had been. But not by much, and Orodruin had been home to me, once.

I stood up, ignoring the ball of light, and raised my flaming gauntlet. A jet of flame shot out, as it had against Nilbog’s minions. Genesis’ clothes and fur caught fire, and she screamed again. Ballistic threw a metal sculpture at my head, but I sliced it in two without looking, my eyes fixed on Genesis as I bathed her in flame.

“Don’t kill them!” Sophia’s voice was loud in my ear. I blinked, glancing down at her, and the fire died. She was looking up at me with something like concern. “Don’t kill them,” she said again. “Not unless you have to. Right?”

I hesitated a moment too long before answering. There was a sickening wail, like the cry of some wounded beast, and Noelle surged forth. She had broken free of Eidolon’s power, and now she was on the offensive.

Vista—who, I noticed, had increased the distance between Sundancer’s fireball and us—only barely got out of the way in time. Gallant was not so fortunate. One of the mouths, a wolflike thing with a pig’s snout, snapped him up with deceptive speed.

“No!” Aegis shouted. “Stay back, everyone! Don’t go in!”

Panacea hissed. She had risen up behind me, on spider’s legs sprouting from her back. “Clone this!” she shouted, her voice high and frenzied, and launched a barrage of scything crystalline limbs at Noelle. They pierced into Noelle’s amalgamate flesh, and she bled a thick, red ooze, but nothing penetrated deeply, and she barely seemed to notice.

One of the other mouths vomited up a naked form. I recognized it as Dean, his dark hair slick with slime. He emerged limp and flopped down on his back, his eyes staring sightlessly up at the late morning sky. The clone was dead on arrival.

Noelle screamed with all her mouths as she charged again. Armsmaster slashed at her with his halberd, but his leg was caught by one of her mouths as she passed. He skidded on the ground behind her for a moment before the mouth tossed him up and lunged as if to swallow him whole.

Aegis caught him in the air, grabbing him by the armpits and flying him out of the way. Miss Militia was firing frantically at Noelle from a distance, her green weapon in the form of a machine gun.

All of this happened in the space between a pair of seconds. The others seemed to have Noelle, if not _handled_ , then at least contained. I turned back to face the other Travelers, remaining aware of Noelle’s position in the back of my mind. Beside me, Sophia raised her crossbows.

“I miss having a sword,” she muttered with a grimace. “Feels wrong.”

“I’ll make you a new one,” I promised without thinking.

“Maybe later?” she said, glancing up at me.

“Later,” I agreed, meeting her eyes. She was smiling. I realized this would be the first time we fought side-by-side since that night at my dad’s house, and suddenly I was smiling too. A warmth surged through me that had nothing to do with Sundancer’s powers.

I turned back to the Travelers, raising Iphannis. As one, Sophia and I charged.

Sundancer threw a star at us, but I lanced out with Iphannis. The moment the ice-cold spear touched the orb of light, a burst of compressed steam exploded out with a hiss like a popped balloon. Sophia was pressed back against me, but I held her in place, my feet planted into the ground like rooted trees.

The mist billowed around us like a blanket. For a moment, I could see nothing. Then I heard something whistling through the air in our direction—something heavy.

I put my arms around Sophia and dove out of the way just in time. A car sailed past us as fast as if it had been on the freeway, flying in the direction of the battle with Noelle behind us. It dispersed the steam where it passed, and I saw Trickster, staring at me, a pistol in his hands.

There was a moment of vertigo, and then I was somewhere else. I was standing outside the bubble of mist, staring at Sundancer, whose hand was up. Her palm glowed faintly, and I knew that she could summon a sun mere inches from my face in an instant.

“Don’t move,” she hissed, but I heard the fear in her voice.

I turned. Trickster had taken my place. One arm was around Sophia’s neck, and the gun was at her brow. She blinked once, sought my eyes, and then nodded.

As she shifted into smoke, I struck backwards with the haft of Iphannis. Sundancer buckled with a cough as the wind was knocked out of her. I dodged out of the way of a charging Genesis, slicing down her side with the blue blade. Where it passed through her flesh, she seemed to waver as though she were made of smoke. She howled, sinking to her knees a few feet from me and clutching at her side. Her head turned, and my eyes met her hateful, furious ones.

There was a mind there, in that telltale flicker of intelligence, but there was something off, too. A degree of separation. But I couldn’t tell what it meant, not in that brief moment.

Another car was whistling through the air behind me. I sidestepped, and it flew straight into Genesis. She barely had time to widen her eyes before it hit her headlong. Her head snapped back with a sickening _crack_ , and she dissolved into a faint red mist. The car crumpled where she had been.

“Genesis!” Ballistic shouted—but it wasn’t the aggrieved shout of someone who had just lost a teammate. A projection, then, or something like it.

I turned to face him—and took a bullet to the face. It struck me dead in the cheek, where my helmet opened to leave my mouth visible. I felt my teeth break around the lead, and it came to a stop as it hit the back of my jaw, cracking the bone.

I screamed, stumbling back. Trickster looked triumphant, his pistol still smoking.

The ground rushed up to meet me, and I only barely caught myself on my hands and knees. Sophia was beside me in an instant, one hand around me. “Shit, shit, shit,” she was mumbling, frantically trying to pull me up. “Time to go, come on, stay with me…”

I spat out the bullet. It was deformed, flattened by the force of the impact. I forced myself to modulate my screaming. Wails became the cries of a high song. My jaw reformed. The blood splattering onto the ground slowed, then stopped.

I looked up. Trickster’s triumphant expression had faded, and in the red firelight his face was washed-out and pale.

I forced myself to my feet, baring my still-mending teeth in a mad smile. “Thought you could kill me?” I growled as the flame rose from under my skin, beginning to flicker around me. “Better than you have tried and failed. No mortal man will kill me—least of all you.”

He fired again, but his hands were shaking, and the bullet went wide.

Sophia gasped suddenly, and withdrew her hand from around me. I smelled smoke and glanced over. Her hand was blistering, her costume smoking where it had been in contact with me.

I’d hurt her. _Again._

The fire receded. I wanted nothing more than to reach out, to try to heal her, to apologize. But there would be time for that later. I hoped.

I glared over at the Travelers as I stepped in front of Sophia. “Surrender,” I ordered, “and this doesn’t have to get any—”

In retrospect, I really should have noticed the change in tone of the fight behind me. I felt a lurch in my stomach, and suddenly _down_ meant something different than it had mere moments before. I fell sideways, Sophia beside me, and struck hard onto a wrought-iron fence around the park with a clang of metal on metal. Sophia phased through the fence and rolled as she hit the wall on the other side of the road.

I looked up, across the park. There was a naked form hovering in the air above Noelle, and I noticed with a sinking feeling that had nothing to do with the change in gravity that Eidolon was nowhere to be seen.

The clone’s eyes weren’t glowing. It was slightly deformed—its arms were too long, and the forearms looked slightly bent so that its hands, when it let its arms hang limp, were almost behind it. But those oddities were no comfort to me now.

The clone was laughing. Its voice lacked the reverberating quality of Eidolon’s, but it kept that same nasal weakness that had so struck me the first time I’d heard the man speak. “God, what an idiot,” it said. It was looking at me, madness flickering in its eyes. “He came here because he was getting weaker, you know?” he called. “Wanted to test himself. Wanted a challenge. Well—” the clone raised its hands, and there was a crashing sound. I glanced to my left and saw that Armsmaster, Miss Militia, and the Wards had been thrown sideways, landing in a heap against a house. “—Now he’s gone, and _I_ don’t feel weak at all!”

“Eidolon,” Noelle growled. “Get us out of here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said the clone. “Pushy, pushy.”

It raised its hands again. A green nimbus surrounded it. It spread to the other Travelers, spreading like mist, and then thickened until it was opaque.

I fell to the grass as gravity righted itself. I picked myself up immediately, but when I looked, the mist was already blowing away—and the Travelers, Noelle, and the clone were all gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for the missing chapters. This mirror is now caught up.
> 
> I would just like to make a couple things clear. I value my readers, no matter which site they're on. I'm sorry I haven't been showing that. I'm sorry that I've been paying so much more attention to the SpaceBattles and SufficientVelocity threads than to this mirror, and the one on fanfiction.net. The honest answer for why is simple: It's far easier to edit a chapter post-release on the forums than it is here or on fanfiction. That is, however, no excuse; and I promise to do better in future.
> 
> Chapters will henceforth be posted here at the same time as on SpaceBattles and SufficientVelocity, on Monday mornings. However, due to the limitations of the medium, I will not be providing announcements when I miss a week on this site; to get those, you will need to watch the SpaceBattles or SufficientVelocity thread.
> 
> I also want it to be clear that I read and seriously consider every comment made on this story, on any site where it is posted. Every comment you make, I read. Every criticism, I consider. If I do not reply to every single one, it is simply because I don't have time. But never--NEVER--feel that I am ignoring you. I am not. I hear you, and I am willing to implement any criticism I find useful, if not retroactively, then at least as a point of consideration going forward.
> 
> So thank you for reading and supporting this story, and I'm sorry I've been so lax in showing my appreciation until now. I promise to do better.


	97. Interlude 11a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

The green mist dissipated as suddenly as it had appeared. Krouse stumbled as the ground suddenly met his feet again. His stomach rolled mutinously at the shift. Teleportation might be useful, but comfortable it was not.

He coughed to clear his lungs of the greenish smoke, leaning against a wall. They had appeared in a deserted back-street. His back was against an old industrial building, and across the street from him was a tenement house with boarded-up windows.

“Where are we?” Noelle asked. Krouse looked over at her. She seemed disoriented, but unharmed. Her agitation was already fading, her monstrous body settling down.

Satisfied, he turned to look around. “Still in Brockton,” he said, recognizing the building beside them. He’d been standing on its roof when he stole Annatar’s Ring. “About a mile north of where we were.”

“I couldn’t move us very far,” the Eidolon clone admitted. “This power isn’t a really long-range mover power. We’re outside their perimeter, but they’ll find us before too long.”

“Then we need to move,” said Trickster. “If we get out of the city, Annatar will stop chasing us. She’s a feudal lord at heart.”

“Well, I’d head north in the short term,” said the Eidolon clone. “Downtown Brockton is the heart of Annatar’s territory.”

“And what then?” asked Sundancer. He glanced over at her, but she was avoiding his eyes. “Say we manage to get out of the city. What do we do then? Where do we go?”

“We can figure that out when we’re safe,” Krouse answered. “But we have to prioritize.”

“We can’t leave Jess and Oliver!” said Marissa sharply.

“We can catch up with them later,” Trickster argued. “They’re chasing Noelle, not a girl in a wheelchair or a guy with a perfect face. Oliver has a phone, and Jess is smart. It’ll work out.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Ballistic asked suddenly. Krouse couldn’t read him, not with his voice controlled and his face covered. “What if Jess gets captured? What do we do then?”

Krouse shrugged. “We can’t exactly launch a rescue mission,” he said. “Not against Annatar. But—come on, guys, this is a talk for  _ later _ . We’re not safe here.”

“Nor are they!” exclaimed Sundancer.

“Look, Annatar or one of her people could show up any second,” Trickster urged. “We have to move  _ now _ . Sitting here is just going to get us killed.”

“I think it’s more likely to get  _ Jess _ killed,” said Sundancer. He could feel her gaze on him, accusing.

“Look,” he said sharply. “I don’t  _ want _ Genesis getting hurt. I hope she gets out of the city okay, and finds her way back to us. But we have to look after ourselves first.”

The Eidolon clone yawned. “As riveting as this is,” he said, “can we please get on with it? If I have to sit still any longer I might just start blowing things up.”

“Yes, let’s get on with it,” said Sundancer, turning away. “I’m going to find Jess.”

“We can’t afford to split up!” Krouse said sharply. “Our best chance is in numbers! We need to look after each other.”

“Like you’re looking after Jess?” Sundancer said, glancing back at him.

“That’s different.”

“It really isn’t, man,” Ballistic put in. “I get it, this is a mess. But we can’t just abandon the others.”

“Give it up, Luke,” Sundancer advised, turning away again. “When Krouse says we need to look after each other, he means  _ we _ need to look after  _ him _ .”

“What about Noelle?” Krouse asked.

The words stopped Sundancer dead in her tracks. Slowly, she turned and looked over and up at Noelle, who was watching her impassively, her tentacles lashing at the air.

“Good point,” she said. “What  _ do _ you think, Noelle? You were our leader before Krouse was.”

Noelle’s face fell. A hand came up to massage her temples. “I… I don’t…” she trailed off for a moment, then said, “It’s so hard to think straight anymore. I don’t even… why are we talking about running? We can fight them. We can  _ beat _ them.”

“And then what?” Ballistic asked. “Say we beat Annatar, say we beat the entire city’s worth of capes. What are we going to do then? We’re trying to fix you and get home, aren’t we?”

The Eidolon clone made a sound. It took Krouse a moment to realize it was soft, mirthless laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Krouse asked sharply.

“It’s not really,” admitted the clone. “Just… it’s futile. Trying to ‘fix’ Noelle. It’ll never work.”

“You don’t know that,” said Sundancer, but she didn’t sound certain. “There’s always a chance.”

“Who do you think  _ distributed _ the power vials?” the clone asked. “And, yes, I know you took vials. Natural powers almost never cause mutations like these. The vials are usually pretty good, too, but sometimes…”

“Wait, back up,” said Ballistic sharply. “You’re saying  _ Eidolon _ was behind the vials we found?”

“Not Eidolon by himself,” the clone corrected. “He’s a vial cape himself. One of the first. He’s been there from the beginning, watching the experiments, watching them refine the formulas. They could have taken you home any time, you know. They have a cape who can take away powers, too. But they’ll never help you.”

“But they exist,” said Noelle, her voice rising in desperation. “We can convince them—”

“You can’t,” said Eidolon flatly. “You’re exactly where they want you. Running around, getting more powerful, maybe even causing triggers. There’s nothing you can give them to make it worth their while.”

“So… what?” Trickster asked. “We should just give up? Turn ourselves in?”

“Why the hell would you do that?” the clone asked, blinking at him. “Give up on Noelle getting cured, yes. But why turn yourselves in?” He turned to Noelle. Their eyes met. Something passed between them, unspoken.

“No,” Noelle said, shaking her head. “No, I’m not that far gone. Not yet.”

“Why not? Eidolon is considered one of the three or four most powerful capes in the world,” he said. “Why are we letting Annatar chase us  _ anywhere _ ? We can have an army of  _ me _ .”

“I can’t make as many clones as I want,” Noelle corrected. “It uses people up. The clones get weaker, and more likely to come out wrong.”

“Still,” the clone said. “Four or five of me? That’s enough to scare anyone away. By  _ myself _ I’m enough to scare anyone away.” He looked down at his hands, turning them over as though looking at them for the first time. Which, of course, he was. “Eidolon didn’t understand his own powers,” he said, almost to himself. “ _ I _ don’t understand them yet either. There’s something he was missing.”

“It’s not about whether we can beat them,” Trickster said. “Fighting doesn’t get us any closer to getting away safe. They can just keep throwing people at us.”

The clone rolled his eyes. “Fine, keep struggling. Your loss.” He looked around at them. “Whatever you all do, you’ll need a distraction. I’ll go make one. I’m not in the mood to be squeamish.” He grinned. “I’ve never burned down a city before. It’ll be nice to cut loose.”

“Wait!” called Trickster as he started to fly off. “We might need your help to get out of here!”

“Then make another Eidolon,” the clone shouted back without stopping. “Maybe he’ll be as boring as you are!”

Silence fell. It was soon broken by the sound of crumbling masonry in the distance as the clone made good on his promise to create mayhem.

“We need to move,” said Trickster.

“Yes,” agreed Sundancer. “I’m going to find Jess. We’ll meet you outside the city.”

“We need to stick together,” Krouse said exasperatedly. “Why is this so hard to understand? We have a better chance—”

“ _ Jess _ has a better chance if she has some help,” said Sundancer flatly. “So I’m going to help her.” She looked back up at Noelle. “I hope you manage to get out,” she said quietly. “We’ll find a way, Noelle. No matter what that clone says.”

Noelle didn’t answer. She was staring down at one of the heads on her lower body, which was snuffling at the ground like a dog. There was no sign that she even heard Sundancer, and after a moment, Marissa turned away and started down the street.

“I’m with you,” said Ballistic suddenly, jogging after Sundancer. “I’ll find Oliver, you go after Jess.” He glanced back at Krouse. “We’ll meet you outside the city.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Krouse warned.

“Maybe,” Ballistic admitted. “It wouldn’t be the first time. But I’m not leaving Oliver and Jess stuck here. I’ll see you later. Don’t die.”

He turned away and jogged down a side street.

“Well, I guess it’s just us,” Krouse said, looking up at Noelle. “What do you think? How are we getting out?”

“Getting out…?” Noelle echoed, her voice distant. “Think…”

“Noelle?”

She blinked and looked away from the head sniffing at the asphalt. “What? I don’t know. What can we do besides walk?”

“You don’t want to create another Eidolon clone?” Trickster asked.

Noelle shook her head vehemently. “If I do that,” she said quietly, “I don’t think… he’s strong. He’s  _ really _ strong. If I brought that much power in… I don’t think I could stop.” She sought his eyes. “I can barely remember why we’re trying to run away, Krouse,” she said. “All I want to do is turn around and fight them. I want to break, and kill, and  _ consume _ them.” She shuddered. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“ _ Nothing _ ,” Krouse said vehemently, his heart sinking.  _ She’s getting worse. _ “It’s not you, it’s that power. We need to get you out of here.”  _ While we still can. _

She nodded hesitantly. “Okay. North, Eidolon said.”

“That’s this way,” Krouse pointed. He wasn’t actually sure—the sun wasn’t visible over the buildings right now—but the important thing was to get moving, to stop Noelle from dwelling on her thoughts. “Come on. We won’t get far without a ride.”

“I won’t fit into a car,” said Noelle. “I’ve been growing.”

“Then we’ll find a pickup truck,” Krouse said, scanning the street. “You can probably fit in the bed. We won’t be stealthy, but—there’s one!”

There was a red pickup, just a block down the street from where they were. It was pulled into a driveway beside a two-story townhouse. Trickster ran towards it, Noelle easily keeping pace.

_ Hopefully, the keys will be in the house, _ he thought.  _ If not, that thing looks old. I can probably hotwire— _

The explosion knocked him sprawling. Debris from the masonry showered the road around him. He rolled several feet before landing on his back, blinking up at the blue sky.

“KROUSE!” Noelle’s shout seemed to come from a long way off. Her bulk swam in his field of vision.

_ I’m fine, _ he wanted to say.  _ Just winded. _ But he didn’t seem to be able to form the words.

Something gold was glinting in the sky above. In his fuzzy vision its shape was indistinct. It looked vaguely humanoid. A beam of light shot down from it, striking Noelle, but she just snarled and shrugged it off. “NO!” she was howling. “YOU BITCH, YOU KILLED HIM!”

_ I’m not dead, _ Krouse thought in bemusement.  _ What are you talking about, Noelle? I’m fine. _

He tried to sit up, but his arms and legs didn’t seem to be responding. He turned his head—a surprisingly difficult endeavor, maybe he really had been injured.

Then he stopped. Stared at the red, pulpy mass that had once been his arm.  _ Oh, fuck. _ The thought was almost calm, barely affected by the sight before him. Almost boring—‘Oh, fuck’ was just the expected response to finding out you’d been horribly maimed.

Now that he thought about it, he  _ could _ feel the pain. It was distant, though—muted, as if he was experiencing it through a wire connected to a body half a world away.

_ At least my legs are fine, _ he thought. He couldn’t feel any pain below the small of his back.

Then again, he couldn’t feel anything below the small of his back.

Noelle was leaning over him. “She’s gone for reinforcements,” she said, and her eyes were streaming with tears. “Oh, Krouse, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

He tried to say something like  _ Sorry for what? _ Or  _ It’s fine. _ His lips didn’t seem to want to cooperate. The most he could manage was a vague mumble.

“I never wanted this,” Noelle mumbled. “I don’t—what am I supposed to do now?” She stared down at him. Then her face hardened. “They want to play hardball? Fine.” She leaned down, and her lips met Krouse’s forehead. “Thank you for everything, Krouse,” she said. “I’ll take it from here.”

Then Krouse felt himself being dragged. His eyes flickered down. One of the heads, like a cross between a bull and a vulture, was pulling him by what remained of his lower body.

His eyes widened. Something deep inside him, a primal, unreasonable instinct, rebelled. He tried to struggle, to cry out, to beg Noelle to do something,  _ anything _ else. All he could manage was an incomprehensible babble.

“Goodbye, Krouse,” said Noelle, her voice soft—but her eyes were hard and flinty. “I love you. I’ll avenge you.”

He looked back up, and the last thing he saw before he was engulfed was Noelle’s face framed by a clear blue sky.

 


	98. Crystalline 11.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

“Dragon, sweep the area,” I ordered aloud, knowing Dragon would hear it through the radio. “That may have been a short-range teleport, and we need to find anyone Noelle already attacked. Find anything that needs our attention.”

“ _On it,_ ” Dragon replied.

“I’ll tell you what needs attention,” Amy said sharply. “Where the fuck is Shaper? What’s she doing?”

“She didn’t seem hostile,” Armsmaster said. “She’s not really—”

“She’s not _your fucking power_ ,” Amy hissed, glaring at him. Then she turned to me. “I’m going after her.”

 _It,_ I mentally corrected. “Be careful,” I said.

Amy relaxed slightly. “I will,” she said. “I just—I need answers.”

I nodded. “Good luck. Call for help if you need it.”

“Shouldn’t we stay focused on Echidna?” Miss Militia asked me. “If we split our focus now—”

“My focus is _pretty fucking split_.” Amy rounded on her. “I’m _going_. I’m not asking.”

I studied her. Her eyes were wide, her face was pale, and the retracting crystalline limbs were swaying erratically behind her. She was worried—and why shouldn’t she be? Her power could act on its own. So why should it still help her?

“Go,” I told her. “Be careful, and don’t get in over your head. If things go south, we may not be able to help you.”

“Sure, yeah,” said Amy, already walking away. Her spider limbs had not fully retracted, and the small appendages swayed behind her where they sprouted seamlessly from her bare back.

I watched her leave before turning to the others. Vista was sitting on the ground, and Clockblocker was kneeling beside her, one arm around her shoulders. On the ground in front of them was the dead clone of Dean. She shook her head at something Clockblocker said and looked over at me.

“He’s alive,” she said. Her eyes were red, and she seemed to spit out the words. “Gallant’s still alive. She’s keeping him alive.”

 _The Dusk would know if the Dawn had died._ In spite of everything that had come between them, in spite of Vicky, of Cauldron, of Amy, and of my own mistakes, that bond remained unbroken.

“We’ll save him,” I told Vista. “We won’t let her hurt him.”

She nodded, but did not seem comforted.

“If Gallant is alive, Eidolon may be as well,” Armsmaster said. “Recovering them is a priority. We can only hope Dragon finds—”

He was interrupted by the sound of crumbling masonry. I turned to see a building several blocks away tumbling down, the higher floors falling apart into fragmented masonry. It fell open, dust and debris spreading outward in a cloud.

“I think we found them,” said Sophia.

“ _Think again,_ ” Dragon said over the radio. “ _That’s the Eidolon clone. I’m still looking for Echidna._ ”

“Even so, we can’t ignore it,” Armsmaster said. “Annatar, you should go after Echidna if and when she’s located. She may be able to create more clones, which makes her much more dangerous, and you’re the most powerful cape we have.”

I nodded. “All right. And you’ll go after the clone. Who do you need?”

“Clockblocker, Aegis, Vista, and Assault,” he said immediately. I could practically hear his brain whirring as he put a plan together. “We’ll take one of the PRT vans. Clockblocker can disable the clone if Vista or Aegis can get him in range.”

No one moved. Everyone was looking at me. “It’s a good plan,” I agreed. “Go. Good luck.”

As they ran off, Miss Militia approached me. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to give Armsmaster command?” she asked. “Whether or not you think he was justified, he hasn’t worked with the Wards in weeks.”

“Aegis won’t let him make any serious mistakes,” I replied, glancing at her. “And, to answer the real question—yes, I trust him.” _Far more than I trust myself, right now._

“ _Found Echidna._ ” Dragon’s voice cut in. “ _North of your current position. Several blocks._ ”

“And the other Travelers?” I asked.

“ _She just ate Trickster,_ ” said Dragon, a hint of disgust coloring her words. “ _I didn’t see the others._ ”

“What’s she doing?”

“ _Rampaging,_ ” said Dragon grimly. “ _Hurry._ ”

* * *

 

I threw open the doors of the van as soon as it came to a halt. “Dragon,” I greeted as she dropped to the ground beside me. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Sorry,” she said.

The doors of the Endbringer shelter had been ripped open. The path down had been torn apart by claws, teeth, and gripping, flailing limbs. Noelle had gone down to find the civilians.

“We have to go after her,” I said. “But that’s going to be a terrible battlefield. Too many opportunities for collateral damage.”

Dragon shrugged. “Not much of a choice.”

“Exactly,” said Sophia on my other side, loading her crossbows. “We’ll manage. We have to. We can’t let her do… whatever she’s going to do to all those people.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it,” I sighed, extending Iphannis. “Shadow Stalker, Dragon, Miss Militia, you’re with me,” I ordered. “The rest of you, get to the other shelters in this complex and evacuate them.”

“Got it,” said Browbeat with a nod. “Velocity, Fume, with me. Assault, you take Battery and Triumph. We’ll go to the west entrance, you go to the east entrance.”

I didn’t stop to question how Browbeat knew so much about downtown Brockton Bay. With my team behind me, I led the way down into the shelter.

The escalator had been torn apart, debris and rubble littering the tunnel. We picked our way through carefully, and then began down the corridor below. Noelle had broken most of the fluorescent lights as she passed. The few which remained barely glowed enough to reflect off of Sophia’s mask, or cast Dragon’s golden armor in a pale, ghostly blue.

We didn’t have to go far before I heard Noelle’s voice, unnaturally loud in the underground corridor. “—Open the door!” she was shouting. “This doesn’t have to be hard! And get that baby to stop crying, it’s not making this easier!”

We crept closer. Noelle was at the end of the corridor. I could only assume the four naked forms surrounding her were Trickster clones. Around her head floated an Eidolon clone.

Just past her was the door into the first shelter dome. It stood firm, but not for much longer. She threw her bulk against it, over and over, clawing at the edges with teeth and claws, and by the groaning and creaking of the surrounding concrete, I knew it couldn’t hold. Inside, barely audible under her screaming and the crumbling concrete, I could hear shouts and crying of frightened civilians.

I leaned in towards Dragon. “Tell Miss Militia to target the Eidolon clone,” I said quietly. “I want it dead before we start.”

Dragon nodded, but Sophia’s head turned to me. “We don’t know whether they’re people,” she pointed out.

“We can’t afford a protracted fight against _Eidolon_ ,” I countered. “We need to prioritize.”

“Prioritize, yes,” Sophia agreed, and her voice was gentle. “But you’re talking about _compromise_.”

I grimaced and looked away.

“Don’t be an idiot, Shadow Stalker,” Dragon growled. “The risk is—”

“I can smell capes,” Noelle growled loudly to the civilians behind the door. “At least two, in there with you. If those two step forward and let me in, I’ll leave the rest of you be. I don’t need to hurt you, but I need those capes. Open the door now, or I’ll just go through all of you!”

We were out of time. The wall was crumbling. And yet I was paralyzed. Was this really the same as what I’d done to Nilbog’s creations? The same as what I’d done to Heartbreaker’s victims?

There was an almighty roar as the wall collapsed. Noelle gave a triumphant screech and pushed past the falling concrete and into the light of the shelter dome.

I made my decision. I turned to Miss Militia and gave her a small nod, then stood up and dove out into the light. The blast of the rifle was immeasurably loud in the close quarters, but as I watched, the clone seemed to preempt the attack, ducking out of the way an instant before the shot was fired.

Noelle whirled. Her eyes widened and flashed red. “You,” she hissed.

I slammed the haft of Iphannis into the ground. “Step away from the civilians,” I ordered.

“Fuck no!” she growled, and turned, making to dive into the crowd.

Dragon got there first, blasting her with lasers which pushed her back, and I joined her, stepping between Noelle and the civilians.

She hissed, a sound like a furious cat, and suddenly I was somewhere else. _One of the Tricksters,_ I realized immediately, but by then it was too late. The Eidolon clone reached out a hand, eyes lit with an arcane light, and I was blown back by a wall of force. I ricocheted off of Noelle’s bulk, landing with a clatter of armor on concrete.

I rolled myself over with a groan and came face to face with a pair of wide blue eyes, framed by red hair.

I stared, and Emma stared back.

Words surged up in my throat. A thousand things yearned to be said—anything from ‘I’ll protect you’ to ‘run, you idiot!’

But I said none of these things. I just sat up, turned away, and faced Noelle. I’d somehow kept my grip on Iphannis, and I spun it and brought it to bear. “Get out of here!” I called over my shoulder to the civilians. “We’ll hold her!”

That opened the floodgates. The screams and stampede were deafening, but I didn’t allow myself to focus on anything but Noelle. I couldn’t help but notice, out of the corner of my eye, the way Emma stared at my back for almost ten seconds before being pulled into the crowd by a friend, but I resisted the urge to turn and look at her directly.

Noelle just stood there, surrounded by the unconscious and dead bodies of Trickster clones. Sophia and Miss Militia had been busy.  The Eidolon clone, however, still hovered around her head. I noticed suddenly that its jaw was misshapen. I wondered if it could even speak.

Noelle stared over at me, her eyes rimmed in red, her teeth bared. She seemed content to let the crowd leave. “I don’t need them,” she said as the tumult faded. “I only need to touch someone to clone them, you know?”

All three of her lower mouths began to cough. Out of the tide of pus and gore which emerged came three bodies.

The first thing I noticed was that they were all different. The second thing I noticed was that they were all mine. The third was that they were all dead.

A masculine form was first, almost eight feet tall and blessed with grace, with long, golden hair and pointed ears. His blue eyes stared sightlessly in my direction.

The second was broader, his dark hair cut close over sculpted, hard features. His seven feet or more of height were less imposing now that he lay dead in a heap at Noelle’s feet.

The third was a monster. Eight and a half feet of scarred, twisted, wrinkled flesh curled on the ground. Red, bloodshot eyes glared at me accusingly.

_Mairon, Annatar, Sauron._

“Dammit!” Noelle screeched. “What is it with you people and not getting cloned properly!?”

I staggered back, staring at the bodies, staring at… myself. My _selves._ Sophia, suddenly at my side, caught me by the shoulder before I could fall. “Taylor?” she whispered.

“Damn it all,” Noelle said, her lips twisting as she glared at me. I barely noticed. “Eidolon? Get us out of here.”

The Eidolon clone nodded and raised his hands up. There was a sound like nails on a chalkboard, magnified a thousandfold, and the earth above us split open like a fissure. Debris rained down on us from above, but the Eidolon clone created a forcefield bubble around himself and Noelle, and the two of them began to rise.

“If I can’t clone _you_ ,” Noelle called down to me, “I’ll clone whoever else I can, instead!”

“What do you want?” Sophia called up after her. “What do you even want from us? We tried to help you!”

“What do I want?” Noelle shrieked. “Let’s start with Dragon’s head on a platter!”

Then she was gone, sailing away.

“I’ll go after them,” Dragon said immediately, turning to me. Then she stopped. “Annatar?”

I tore my eyes away from my corpses. “What?”

“Are you all right?” she asked, genuine concern thick in her voice.

“Fine,” I said curtly. “Keep track of her. We can’t afford to lose her. The rest of us will find our own way out of here.”

Dragon hesitated, but only for a moment before nodding and soaring out of the pit.

Sophia’s hand on my shoulder snaked around my neck until she was pulling me close. “Hey,” she murmured. “What’s wrong?”

I swallowed, staring down at my own corpses. My eyes met Sauron’s. I remembered the first time I’d failed to create a form that wasn’t twisted and broken, after the fall of Númenor. I remembered the horror, the fear, the fury.

What _was_ wrong? How to even begin? How to condense thousands of years of malice into a moment’s explanation?

“I’ll tell you later,” I said quietly. “There’s no time now.” I snapped my fingers, and the three bodies burst into flame. “We have to get out of here. Come on.”

“Maybe we can help?”

I looked up at the voice—and at the sound of a rope being tossed down which accompanied it. There, on the edge of the pit, were Sundancer, Ballistic, and two people whose faces I didn’t recognize. The girl who had spoken was a redhead in a wheelchair, and though I’d never seen her before, her voice was familiar—though the last time I’d heard it, it had been from the mouth of a projection.

The Travelers had come.


	99. Crystalline 11.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

“What kind of ‘help’?” Sophia asked cautiously.

Genesis chuckled. “The real kind,” she said, gesturing at the rope. “That’s as secure as we could make it, but maybe test it first. None of us are brutes.”

Sophia and I looked at each other. Then I glanced over at Miss Militia. “Trap,” she said immediately, the fluid green form of her power flickering around her, undecided about the weapon she needed right now.

“I don’t think so,” I said. I stepped forward and gave the rope an experimental tug. It held.

“Careful,” Sophia warned.

“I always am,” I said. Hand over hand, I began pulling myself up the rope. It wasn’t easy, but I wasn’t exactly a normal or even a highly athletic human. Ballistic, Sundancer, and the unknown Traveler, a boy with blond hair, soft features, and slightly pointed ears, helped by pulling the rope up as I climbed.

Soon I was scrambling up onto the edge of the pit. Ballistic offered me a hand up, which I accepted. “Thanks,” I said, a little winded.

“No problem,” he said. “We going to pull the others up?”

“Just Miss Militia,” I said. “Shadow Stalker can—”

But no. She couldn’t. The ability to travel through shadows had been an enhancement given by Cenya—the Ring she had rejected.

It took me a second to swallow the surge of bitter emotion before I could continue. “Yes,” I managed. “We’ll pull them up, if that’s all right. I can do it myself, though.”

“It’s no trouble,” said Sundancer, coiling up the rope and tossing it back down into the pit. “Next up, come on!”

“So,” I said, drawing out the word as we pulled Sophia up. “What’s happened? Why are you helping us? I thought Noelle was yours.”

“It’s not like that,” said Genesis, watching as we worked. There was a bitterness and a sadness in her voice as she said it.

“Then talk to me,” I suggested. “What is it like? I want to understand.”

“Why?” grunted Ballistic, as he pulled on the rope. “Noelle’s lost her mind. Why do you care how she got here?”

“Because she’s still a human being,” I said. “I don’t want to kill her if I can avoid it.”

Sundancer glanced over at me, but said nothing. It was Genesis who spoke. “I can respect that.”

At that moment, Sophia clambered up over the edge. I offered her a hand up, which she accepted. We tossed the rope down again, and the conversation continued.

“We weren’t always a villain team,” Genesis said. “We used to be just… a team.”

“Heroes?” Sophia asked.

“Not _capes_ ,” Genesis corrected. “Pro gamers, actually.” Her lips curved up in a melancholy smile. “We were pretty damn good, too. Not world-class, but… there was a chance we could get there. Noelle wasn’t the best player on the team, but she was the smartest—and the best _person_. She held us together.”

“What happened?” I asked.

There was a brief silence. “It’s not easy to talk about,” said Genesis carefully.

“You mean it’s incriminating,” I said.

I felt Ballistic’s sudden tension through the rope. “It’s all right,” I said, trying to sound soothing. I’d had a lot of practice. “I’m not one to judge at face value.”

“We’re Simurgh bombs,” Ballistic growled. “Or so people say. Apparently our brains have been rewired to cause problems for society.”

“And I’d say that’s proven pretty true,” said Sundancer quietly. “Look at what happened to C—Perdition. Look at Krouse. Look at Noelle.”

“We were in Madison during the Simurgh attack,” Genesis explained, ignoring her teammates. “Getting out of the exclusion zone wasn’t easy.”

“And you triggered there,” I guessed. “During the attack?”

There was another pause. This time, I put it together before Genesis could decide what to answer.

“You didn’t trigger at all,” I realized. “You’re vial capes. You’re _all_ vial capes.”

“We found a case of canisters in Madison,” said Genesis. “We figured it was our best shot at getting out of the quarantine. It was also supposed to fix a couple of serious injuries. It worked, but…”

“…But it transformed Noelle,” I finished for her, just as Miss Militia made it over the edge of the pit. “Her vial was faulty.”

“She only took half the vial,” said the blond boy. His voice was soft, and slightly musical. “We only had six, and there were seven of us. She and I split one.”

“These vials,” Miss Militia said as she caught her breath. “These wouldn’t happen to be the same kind as we recovered from that Merchant rally in May?”

I nodded. “The same,” I confirmed. Then I glanced at her. “What happened to those, anyway?”

“The Director sent them in for examination in Washington,” said Miss Militia. “That was the last I heard of them. Why?”

“Guess Eidolon’s group reclaimed them, then,” said Genesis.

I raised an eyebrow at her. “You know about Cauldron?” I asked.

She blinked at me. “Is that what they’re called?”

“What’s Cauldron?” asked Sophia.

I shook my head. “Later.” I coiled up the rope and tossed it over to where it was tied to a particularly large fragment of building. “What do you plan to do now?” I asked the Travelers. “Why did you help us? Why aren’t you still trying to keep Noelle hidden?”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” Ballistic muttered.

“It is,” Sundancer agreed, her voice low and sad. “Noelle is—she was my friend. My best friend. But at this point…” She sighed and shrugged, looking away from all of us. “I’m not sure there’s anything left of the Noelle I knew.”

“But why are you helping?” I pressed. “You could just… leave. We’re all far too focused on Noelle to go after you. Why put yourselves in the line of fire?”

“We’re not _monsters_ , Annatar,” said Sundancer, but her tone was more resigned than indignant. “We don’t _want_ people getting hurt. And it… it hurts, seeing Noelle like this. I don’t think she’d want us to let it continue.”

“We’ve done a lot of things I regret, while trying to keep Noelle safe,” said Genesis. “We’ve killed people, and we’ve let her kill people. We’re not innocent. But this—abandoning a city to Noelle on a rampage, with Eidolon’s power on her side? That’s one step too far. This is where I say no.”

I considered her. It was hard to think of the little girl in the wheelchair, and the shape-shifting heavyweight fighter, as the same person. But with that hard, determined look in her eye, I managed it. “That, I can respect,” I said.

“We’ve all got regrets,” Sophia said suddenly, and I felt her eyes on me. “It takes guts to face up to it and say ‘no’ like that. We’re glad to have your help.”

“Not enough to keep from throwing us in jail after this, I’ll bet,” muttered Ballistic.

“We’ll see about that,” I said. “For now—has anyone got a plan?”

The silence that fell was telling.

“Do you think she can be reasoned with?” Sophia asked.

“If we thought that, we’d be trying,” Genesis replied. “It’s _possible_ , but… I don’t think she’s in control, anymore.”

Sophia looked at me. “You’re good at that, though,” she said. “What do you think?”

“It’s worth a try.”

“Not if it gets people killed,” Miss Militia argued. “Not if it means putting you at risk, Annatar! We need to _stop_ her.”

“Yes, we do,” I agreed. “So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to make a distraction while you, Shadow Stalker, Ballistic, and Sundancer get in position. Genesis, is there a reason you’re not using a projection right now?”

“Can’t,” said Genesis. “It’ll be a few hours.”

“Then you should hang back, out of sight,” I said. “I’ll try to talk to Noelle. If it works, great. If not… well, that’s what you’re all there for.”

“Makes sense to me,” said Ballistic.

“And to me,” Miss Militia confirmed.

“Then let’s get going,” said Sundancer. Her face was set, her eyes hooded. “Time to finish this.”

* * *

 

A Dragon suit dropped down into the alley to greet me. “Hey,” she said with a nod. “I’ve got Echidna mostly contained. She’s gone through a few of my suits, and I’ve been having trouble doing damage.”

“What have you tried?” I asked.

“Missiles, lasers, guns,” Dragon listed. “Haven’t had time to bring in any of the prototypes I’ve been working on since you freed me. Those might work.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “Are you? Bringing them, I mean.”

She nodded. “A couple of my heavier craft are en route from Vancouver,” she said. “They’re not as fast as my suits, but the prototypes are bulky.”

“Keep them on course,” I said. “I’d rather not need them, but it’s better to be safe.”

“You have a plan, then?”

“Something of one.” I quickly explained the situation to her. “If we’re very lucky, I can talk Noelle down.”

She sighed, and I could imagine the smile on her face. “You always have to give them a chance,” she said, an affectionate lightness to her voice. “All right. Where did you say the others were setting up? I can tell them what I know about her weaknesses.”

“They were going to make for a rooftop,” I said, gesturing to my left. There was a wall in the way, but I hoped Dragon took my meaning. “The one with the flowers out front?”

“The boutique. Got it. I’ll keep Noelle focused away from you—and them—until you’re in position.” With that, her thrusters engaged, and she soared out of the alley.

I took a moment to myself. I rolled my shoulders, twirled Iphannis in the air. This would be my first time attempting to deescalate a conflict in weeks. I’d given criminals and villains _chances_ , in the past month, as Dragon had said—chances to surrender. But I’d never really tried to bring them around, the way I once had with Sophia, or with Brian.

I had been changed by my experiences—by my Dad’s forced betrayal, by Sophia’s flight, by the defeats of Heartbreaker and Valefor. Could I even _do_ this anymore? Had I fallen so far, grown to revel so much in the thrill of battle, that I couldn’t even convince _myself_ that I wanted to avoid any more death?

I remembered Emma’s shocked face, and my resolve hardened. I had acted to save _Emma_. If I could do that, I could act to save Noelle.

Noelle’s bulk rushed past the alley, pursued by Dragon’s suits. That was my cue. I stepped out into the street, took a deep breath, and called out, “Noelle!”

Noelle whirled. The Dragonflight spread out, surrounding us, but they did not engage, and they kept their distance. For a moment, there was silence, save for the snarling of Noelle’s beastly appendages. Then Noelle spoke. “Annatar,” she spat, her voice little more than a hateful rasp. “What do you want now?”

“That’s what I want to ask you!” I said, leaning against Iphannis. “Why are you doing this? You could have escaped once you got away from us. Why the rampage?”

She howled. Her lower jaws bayed. It was a furious sound, like a pack of wolves—but it was mournful, too. “You know why!” she screamed. “Don’t fucking _toy_ with me!”

“I don’t!” I exclaimed. “I—” Then something clicked.

 _She just ate Trickster,_ Dragon had said. I had not spent much time with Noelle, but if anything had been clear, it was that she and Trickster had cared about each other.

I stared up at Noelle, at the rictus of pain and hate on her face. Then my eye flicked to Dragon’s suit, hovering over her shoulder, missiles at the ready. I swallowed. “What happened to Trickster?” I asked, and I wasn’t sure who I wanted to answer.

Noelle screamed, and it was the most human sound she had made since our first conversation. “You killed him!” she sobbed. Red, tearstained eyes glared at me. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you!”

She charged at me. I dove out of the way, barely avoiding her path. Explosions surrounded us as Dragon fired, and Noelle cried out in mingled pain and rage. She chased after me, but I ducked back into the narrow alley. She threw her bulk against the walls of the buildings. They buckled, but did not break, and as Dragon threw more gunfire and lasers at her, scorching against her flesh, she was forced to move on, screaming all the while, “Come out and fight, damn it! Come out so I can kill you!”

I fell back against the wall, breathing heavily. One of Dragon’s suits landed beside me. “Annatar?” she said, concern coloring her voice. “Are you all right?”

“You killed him.” My voice sounded distant, as though from a long way off. I couldn’t even look at her. “You just—killed him.”

“He was caught in the blast of a missile,” Dragon said. “I didn’t make a precision strike or anything.” She sounded completely unconcerned. She might as well have been discussing the weather.

“He was the only thing she cared about—the only thing left keeping her human,” I murmured. “And you killed him, just like that. No hesitation.”

 “In retrospect,” Dragon admitted, “that was a mistake, yeah. I’m sorry I made her impossible to negotiate with. It’s all right—civilian casualties are still low, and we have her mostly contained now. My lasers haven’t been able to get through her hide, but Iphannis can probably kill her.”

“We wouldn’t _need_ to kill her if you hadn’t killed Trickster!” I exclaimed, my tension suddenly snapping. “We could have negotiated, Dragon! We could have _fixed_ this!”

“Well, I’m sorry we’re not all social thinkers!” she snapped back. “I wasn’t going to prioritize keeping the _enemy_ alive while they sent Eidolon to attack the city! I may have set her off, but Echidna was out of control to begin with.”

“No, she wasn’t,” I growled. “She was _in_ control. Precariously, struggling, but still _herself_. She was fighting back against the monster. And you—you struck at her where she was human. You killed the one reason she had to hold back.”

“Fine!” she hissed, her glowing eyes flaring with blue light. “I made a mistake. What do you want, an apology? She’s _blowing up the city_. Does this really _matter_ right now? So we have to fight her— _so what?_ ”

I stared at her, my mouth falling slightly open. “So _what_?” I asked, my voice low. “You… you don’t even—”

“—Care? No, not really. She’s the _enemy_ , Annatar, remember? As long as we can keep civilian casualties low, and keep the city mostly intact, I’m happy with this.”

I found myself stepping back. “She was looking for redemption,” I said, my voice uneven. “She was looking to get _better_ , to fix herself. And you don’t care at all. You don’t even _understand_.”

“She’s a monster, Annatar,” Dragon said, her voice almost gentle. “She needs to be put down.”

“Then so are you.” The words came before I could hold them back, spilling like blood from the wound in my heart.

She stumbled. “What?”

“You’re killing with impunity, to satisfy your bitterness and your sense of justice—of _vengeance_. You’re making the decision of who should live and who should die without input, without hesitation, with barely a _thought_. What makes you any better than her? Hell—at least she has the excuse that she’s barely coherent. You’re perfectly rational, and cold as ice. What’s your excuse?”

She stared at me, her body perfectly still. “You taught me this,” she said in a hollow voice.

“Yes. I wish I hadn’t. I’m sorry, Dragon.”

Her fists clenched. “For what?” Dragon growled, and her emotions bled through again, her voice sharp and twisted with betrayed pain. “For _freeing_ me?”

“No. For everything that came after.”

“So you regret dealing with Valefor? Driving crime out of the city? You regret freeing Canary, and teaching me to control my image?” She swallowed audibly, an odd sound through the speakers. “...Being my friend?”

In the end, there was only one answer. “Yes. All of these.” I broke my gaze from hers and stared at the brickwork. “I was never your friend.”

She made a small, choked sound, and my heart broke.

“Go, Dragon,” I whispered. “Go—and find a better friend than me.”

I turned away. A moment later, there was a rush of sound as she shot into the air and out of the alley. As soon as she was out of earshot, I slid down to the ground, putting my face in my hands.

“You did that on purpose.” Sophia’s voice came suddenly from beside me. I glanced over. She was kneeling, her right hand clasping her left, green eyes watching me. “You were trying to drive her away. Why?”

“I needed to break her connection to… to the person I used to be. She used to be a hero. I want that for her again.” My face twisted unbidden. “Do you think there was a better way? A gentler way?”

“Maybe,” Sophia agreed. “But maybe this was coming anyway. You set her on this path. I don’t think there was a painless way to get her off of it.”

“Do you think she _is_ off of it?” I asked. “What if she decides to turn on us? To turn on the world? What if I’ve made things worse?”

“I think you need to talk to her again,” said Sophia. “I think there’ll be time for that. I think—I think sometimes a bone that’s set wrong needs to be broken again, before it can be fixed.”

I shuddered and looked down. “I care about her.”

“She cares about you, too. That’s why it hurt.”

“I didn’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to hurt people at all.”

“Nor does Noelle,” Sophia said. “She just wants to stop hurting.”

“I can’t make it stop hurting,” I murmured. “No one can. The dead do not return from across the sea.”

“Maybe not,” said Sophia, unclasping her hands and standing up. “But maybe you can help her accept that. You thought there was something you could try, didn’t you? When Amy failed.”

I nodded. “I could—I could sever her connection to her power,” I said softly. “Her _fragment_ , as Shaper put it. It should stop her rampaging. It might help her.”

“Then let’s get you close enough to do it,” said Sophia, holding out a her hand. “One last try.”

I smiled, reached out, and let Sophia pull me to my feet.


	100. Crystalline 11.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

Dragon’s suits were still attacking Noelle. I could hear the explosions of missiles and the thumping of machine guns in the distance. It was a relief to know that I hadn’t driven her away completely.

“Will Dragon even let us get close?” Sophia asked.

“She won’t hurt us,” I said. “She won’t  _ help _ either, of course.”

“You know her better than I do,” said Sophia, and it warmed me to hear the lack of doubt in her voice—and frightened me, too. “They’re fast, though. How do we get to them?”

“If I still had Nenya, I could just run in,” I muttered.

“And if wishes were horses, we’d be able to ride,” Sophia said, nudging me. “Let’s get in touch with Vista.”

I hesitated. “Dragon’s running communications,” I pointed out. “I’m not saying she wouldn’t put our message through, but…”

“We have phones, don’t we?” She grinned at me. “I realize that’s a little primitive for you, these days.”

I chuckled. “I have gotten used to a bit of an infrastructure, haven’t I?” I reached into a pocket and pulled out my old Wards phone. When was the last time I’d used it? I couldn’t remember. Vista was still in the contacts, though.

She picked up on the second ring. “Vista here. What’s up, Annatar?”

“Shadow Stalker and I have a plan to stop Noelle,” I said. “Where are you? We need transportation.”

“Still near Keene Park,” Vista said. “The Eidolon Clone fell back before Clockblocker could freeze it. I think it’s gone to join Noelle.”

That didn’t bode well. Dragon was powerful— _ very _ powerful, with the entire Dragonflight coming in—but with two Eidolon clones Noelle would be able to seriously challenge her. “Shadow Stalker and I are”—I glanced at the street signs—“at the corner of Birch and Mason. Think you can swing by and pick us up?”

“Sure. On my way. I’ll bring the others. Give me five minutes.”

“You have three.” I hung up and slipped the phone back into my pocket. Then I turned back to Sophia. “She’ll be here soon,” I said. “In the meantime—what happened to Miss Militia and the Travelers?”

She grimaced. “The Travelers heard what happened to Trickster,” she said. “I think we lost a lot of their support with that. Miss Militia went after them.”

I nodded sadly. “We’ll have to follow up on that, once this is done.”

“Sure,” Sophia agreed. “But one thing at a time. This first.”

A couple  minutes later, Vista arrived, stepping between us through a tunnel of folded space. Behind her, Clockblocker, Armsmaster, and Aegis appeared a moment later. “Welcome back to Vista air,” she said in a sing-song voice. “We hope you enjoy your trip.” She glanced up at me. “What’s the plan? Just straight in towards her?”

I nodded. “You shouldn’t get too close,” I said. “Just get me close enough to touch her, and I’ll do the rest.”

“Okay,” she said doubtfully. “Don’t get eaten.” She twisted her hands through the air, and the road ahead of us compressed. “After you.”

A couple of steps later, we were on a rooftop overlooking the battle—or what was left of it. Only a few of Dragon’s suits remained in the air, and these were being torn apart by the two Eidolon clones. Noelle seemed to have stopped to watch the slaughter, a twisted smile on her face.

“Okay, one more,” murmured Vista. “You won’t have long before the Eidolon clones notice you, though. Want us to distract them?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Get them off Dragon. She can’t sustain these losses for much longer.”

Vista didn’t answer. It wasn’t until Aegis yelped, “What the—” that I realized why.

I whirled. A Trickster clone was in the middle of us, a knife in one hand and a dagger in the other. It was wearing loose-fitting clothes in red and black, and its face was slightly rounded and chubby, like an infant’s. Its eyes, however, were small, sharp, and glittered cruelly.

The gun was pointed at Sophia. For a moment, my heart stopped. But just as it fired, Sophia flickered into mist, and the bullet passed harmlessly through. The knife, on the other hand, arced towards a chink in Clockblocker’s armor.

Clockblocker jumped back. Armsmaster stepped away, too, trying to make enough space to use his halberd. “Move, Annatar!” he shouted. “This is your best chance!”

I hesitated. My eyes flickered to Sophia, her form still little more than an indistinct mass of mist. Then I swallowed, turned, and vaulted over the low façade and down into the street.

I landed light on the sidewalk. Noelle was already looking in my direction, a sneer on her face. “You again,” she said, and as she spoke, the animal heads below her waist growled and snarled, giving her words a guttural undertone. “What do you want?”

“I want to help you,” I said.

“Right,” she answered. I couldn’t even hear the sarcasm over the growling, the dissonance, the anger. “Of course you do.”

“I can  _ help _ ,” I stressed. “I can—Noelle, I can sever your connection to your power. I can free you!”

She stared at me. “Eidolon said they had a cape like that,” she said. “But he said they wouldn’t help. Why would you?”

“Because I care,” I said. I wasn’t even trying to draw on my inhuman insight, or the millennia of charisma I had cultivated. I was just speaking the truth. “Because you’re hurting, and I know what that’s like. Because I have to believe that it’s possible to come  _ back _ from being a monster.”

She stared at me. Her cheeks were streaked with dry tears, her eyes were stained with red. For a moment she was perfectly still, though the sound of battle continued echoing above us. “Okay,” she said at last. “Okay. You can try.”

I came forward, ignoring the battle, ignoring the danger, ignoring the fact that Sophia was fighting for her life behind me. This was Noelle’s moment. I had to give her that. Sophia could take care of herself.

I reached out a hand as I approached one of the animal heads. It growled at me as I approached, but it allowed me to put my hand upon its neck. Its thick fur was not fur at all, but dark, human hair, tangled and tousled together.

I reached out, as I had when I faced Heartbreaker. The eye of my consciousness sought out the place where Noelle ended and Echidna began.

The tether wasn’t clean, like it had been with Heartbreaker. Nikos Vasil had never rejected his power, had never fought it the way Noelle had. His power was attached to his  _ Fëa _ like a prosthetic, with clean, surgical cuts made to allow it to connect with him.

Noelle’s power had forced itself onto her with all the precision of a bulldog. It had bitten into her soul, leaving gaping wounds which festered and swelled painfully around its seeking tether. It burrowed deep, like a Morgul blade worming its way to the heart of its victim. I could only vaguely see the shape of the thing it was attached to, at the other end, but it looked wrong, somehow, in a way even the monster I’d fought hadn’t. It looked incomplete, rent, like a man missing an arm.

“This is going to hurt,” I found myself saying aloud. Tearing that toothed harpoon out of Noelle’s very soul would not be easy. “It might…” I swallowed. “You might not be… okay, after. It’s buried deep inside you.”

“Do I look okay  _ now _ ?” Noelle asked. “It can’t hurt worse.”

_ Yes, it can, _ I knew. But saying so would accomplish nothing. There could be no preparing for this. So, after only a moment to steel myself, I gripped the would-be haft of the would-be tether, and tore it roughly out of Noelle’s would-be flesh.

Noelle  _ screamed _ . Her lower half howled, screeched, flailed. I leaped back as the head I had been touching lunged at me. But no, it was merely roiling, lolling from side to side, its eyes rolling sightlessly as it cast itself hither and thither in its agonized death throes.

Then, slowly, the bulk of Noelle collapsed upon itself, falling under its own weight, fragmenting as it fell. Extremities shriveled, wrinkled, and dried, as though aging decades in mere moments. The great fleshy bulk blackened, then greyed, then began to crumble to a pale dust, blowing away in small puffs in the wind.

Noelle’s upper body slowly sank as her lower body fell apart beneath her. The dissolving flesh blew past me as I pushed forward, forcing my way through the mass towards her. Around me, among the rain of dying flesh, I heard three audible thumps as Gallant, Eidolon, and Trickster fell to the ground, their prison collapsing around them.

She fell at my feet, her human body miraculously whole, legs and all. She had stopped screaming, and her chest rose and fell heavily, and her eyes stared up, unshed tears misting them like a curtain of rain.

I knelt beside her. Around us, the remains of Echidna fell in a faint patter, the dust of the dissolving flesh filling the air with pale particles. “Noelle?” I murmured.

She blinked. Her eyes cleared slightly, and slowly turned to seek mine. “Annatar,” she murmured. “Is it—am I human?”

“Yes,” I said gently, putting a hand on hers where it lay upon the ground. “Yes, you are human.”

“Good,” she whispered. Her eyes closed, but she forced them open again. “I think—I think I’m dying.”

_ No, _ I wanted to say.  _ No, you’re just exhausted. You’ll be okay—you’ve got your whole life ahead of you! _ But I knew. I had known the moment I ripped the thing away from her. A wound like that, festering for so long… There could be no recovery from that. Her very spirit had been sundered. Though her body was whole, her  _ Fëa _ was coming apart.

“There was too little of you left,” I whispered. “It had—it had eaten away at you for too long. I’m sorry.”

She sighed and gave a tiny nod. “I think I knew,” she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper on the wind. “When you told me how you would help. I think I knew I wouldn’t outlive my power.”

“You’ll see Trickster again soon,” I told her, my voice scraping painfully against the lump in my throat. “He’ll be waiting for you in the Halls of Mandos, and from there you can go into your uncertain future together.”

“That’s a nice thought, but I’m not sure I can believe it,” she murmured. “Maybe it’s for the best anyway.”

“How can you say that?” I asked, my voice rising. “How can it be  _ better _ to die?”

“If I lived, I’d spend the rest of my life trying to make up,” she murmured. Her eyes were drifting, now, her lids flickering, her pupils growing unfocused. “Make up for something I never  _ could _ make up for. If I die—that’s the end of it. I can’t hurt anymore.”

“No.” I shook my head vehemently. “No, I won’t—you can’t give up like this! I won’t  _ let _ you!” I reached out and touched her, extending my senses. I found the wound, and reached to the frayed edges of Noelle’s very being. I grasped, and pulled, trying to force the injury shut, trying to hold her together by brute force.

Noelle whimpered. I didn’t stop. “I can help you,” I said, and almost believed it. “I can… I can heal you!”

“It hurts,” she whispered.

I gritted my teeth. The wound was almost shut. I might yet—

Noelle screamed. It was a weak sound, frail and high, but unmistakably a sound of agonizing pain. I blinked, and saw that as I had pulled her together in one place, she had begun to tear in another. There was not enough of her left to hold the rest together. And I had known that, known it perfectly well—and I had tried anyway, in the knowledge of what might—what  _ would _ —go wrong.

I let her go and pulled away. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I couldn’t… I shouldn’t have…”

“You tried.” The words came out as a pained exhalation as her body relaxed, the tension leaving her frame alongside the life. Her gaze turned from me, looking up into the clear sky above. “Tell the others I’m sorry. Krouse… I’m coming. I’ll see you soon.”

Her eyes drifted shut. A slow, peaceful breath escaped her. She did not breathe in again.

_ I have to believe that it’s possible to come back from being a monster. _

I took Noelle’s limp hands and folded them over her chest. My eyes were blurring with tears. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. But I wasn’t saying it to Noelle.

Some small, ugly corner of me, the same part of me that had cowered and fled when Eönwë ordered my return to Aman, whispered in my head.  _ This is what redemption looks like, _ it whispered.  _ It’s not Prospero. It’s Lear. _

I bowed my head and wept.

 


	101. Crystalline 11.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

It couldn’t have been long before I felt Sophia’s arms around me. It felt like an eternity. “Hey,” she murmured, stroking my hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay, shh.”

I leaned into her as the tears streamed down my face. I didn’t sob—I was nearly silent. My shoulders barely shook. It was almost as though I was already dead, there in Sophia’s arms.

The others moved around us. I heard footfalls, shifting, grunts as Gallant, Eidolon, and Trickster were picked up and carried away. I paid it no mind. I was lost, reeling, despairing.

“Why?” I mumbled into Sophia’s arms. “Why did she have to die? Why was there no mercy?”

“I don’t know,” she murmured, rocking me gently. “I don’t understand it either, Taylor. Sometimes things just go wrong.”

Sirens were sounding. PRT vans setting up a perimeter around the site of the battle, ambulances tending to the wounded, and the all-clear sounding to call the civilian population back to their homes. The high, keening sounds mingled and blended into a howling chorus, almost mournful in the early afternoon.

Sophia took my hand, and gently pulled. “Come on, Taylor,” she said, her voice soft in my ear. “There’s a van for us. Let’s go home.”

_Home._ Where was Noelle’s home? What had pushed her to leave it with the other Travelers? What cruel fate had pulled her from that life, and left her to die a slow death to the encroaching corruption of a frenzied power?

I allowed Sophia to pull me gently away from the body. As I tore my eyes away, I saw Trickster’s ruined from. He was dead—his bleeding had already slowed, the flow thickening into a dark, viscous ichor. Little remained of his body below the waist, and one of his arms was scarcely more than a ruined stump. His eyes stared sightlessly up, forever captured in an expression of profound horror.

Sophia helped me up into a van, and I stumbled into a seat. She followed me in and shut the door behind us. She said something to the driver, and the vehicle began to hum beneath me. All of this I barely registered. My eyes stared, as blind as Trickster’s or Noelle’s, focusing on a point somewhere between my knees.

Had I been so arrogant—so foolish—to believe that I was safe? I had, by now, perhaps been responsible for more suffering than even Melkor. Had I believed there would be no reckoning?

Sophia sat beside me. She squeezed my hand. “You tried, Taylor,” she said.

“Of course I tried,” I mumbled. “It wasn’t enough.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? How could it _ever_ be enough? How could the soul of one Maia ever pay even a fraction of the debt she owed?

“What are you thinking about?” Sophia’s voice prodded me gently. “Talk to me, Taylor.”

_Talk to her._ And it would be so easy, wouldn’t it? If there was no mercy to be had, what fool would seek it? Just a few words. Sophia was _here._ There was no Cenya to protect her.

If I could twist the bearer of Narsil to my end, there would be no rebellion. None could stand before me. I would be _safe._

“Do you want me to… to die?” I asked, and didn’t have to fake the hesitation.

“Of course not!” Sophia exclaimed, startled. “Why would you even think that? You’re not going to die, Taylor!”

“I am worse than she was,” I said quietly. “She sought redemption, and was paid in death. Why should I be any different?”

“Oh.” Her eyes were wide as she stared at me. “Taylor… it’s not the same. You’re not Noelle.”

“No. I’m worse.” My fists clenched. “I don’t want to die,” I growled. “Why should I? If there’s no mercy for the penitent, well. Maybe penitence isn’t the way.” I looked up at her, met her eyes. There was no fear there, only a sad and gentle concern. It only made me angrier. “No more lies,” I said. “I care about you, Sophia. And I know you care about me, too. _Help_ me. I won’t go gently, I won’t lie down to die. If the choices I have are being a Dark Lord and being dead, then tell the masons to start on my throne. And I want you there beside me.”

She didn’t answer. She just watched me.

I bared my teeth. “Mercy fails,” I hissed. “Or it doesn’t exist at all. _Gentleness_ and _kindness_ are fantasy, smoke and mirrors, an illusion the weak use to feel strong. But I don’t have the luxury. Not anymore. If I want to live, it must be by being stronger than my enemies. I don’t want you to be one of them, Sophia.”

Sophia didn’t answer.

“Fine!” I spat, my eyes flaring with power. “Be that way, keep your silence. Stand apart. Refuse to act, as the ‘good’ and the ‘wise’ always do. I’ll do it myself. I _will not surrender my life._ I will not give up! My power will spread until all the world is at my feet, and no one, not the PRT, not Cauldron, not even Scion can bring me down. I am _eternal,_ and eternal I will stay!”

“Then why haven’t you done anything to me yet?” Sophia asked. Her voice was perfectly steady—gentle, and a little sad.

My mouth opened. No words came out for a moment. “Will you stand in my way?” I asked.

“That depends on what you want,” she said.

“I want to _live_!”

“But you don’t want to go back.”

My heart thudded in my chest like a drum. “Do I have a choice?” I growled. “Those who turn aside are cut down. I’ve lived thousands of years by making sure my enemies could never strike at me. And now you want me to bare my throat to them? Offer them my blood? I’ll be slaughtered like an animal.”

“You didn’t kill me.”

“I _tried_ to!”

“Not then,” Sophia shook her head. “When you joined the Wards. Back then, I was exactly what you’re talking about. I survived by putting down my enemies and rivals. What do you think I did to you?”

“Entirely different,” I sneered. “What were your crimes compared with Noelle’s or mine? You hadn’t killed.”

“Hadn’t I?”

That brought me up short, and I noticed suddenly that Sophia had tears in her eyes.

“I have a body count, Taylor,” she said quietly. “I can’t change that. I can’t go back.”

“...Noelle likely killed dozens of people over her rampages,” I said. “It’s not—”

“Noelle’s only crime,” Sophia interrupted, “was getting a shitty power, a shitty situation, and losing her mind. I only had one of those excuses, and at least I still had a roof over my head. Maybe she killed more people when she lost control. I killed them while I was _in_ control. Sometimes I—sometimes I did it more slowly. I had _fun_ with it.” She shuddered. “And that’s not to mention what I did to a girl whose only crime was being friends with someone I was jealous over.”

“That’s…”

“I don’t think Noelle was way worse than I was— _am_.” Sophia swallowed. “I think she was less _lucky_. But no, I think if anyone deserved to _die_ for what they did, it wasn’t her. It’s not about deserving. It’s not about who did worse.”

“Then what _is_ it about?” I asked, and my voice shook. I put my head in my hands. “I can’t live in fear. I can’t live knowing at any moment my debt might come due. I need—I need _certainty_. I need _security_.”

“And you think you’ll get it by going back to how things were?” Sophia reached out and touched my arm gently. “You know better, Taylor.”

And, really, I did. Maybe I always had.

I choked back a sob and put my face in my hands. There was no way out.

“Talk to me, Taylor,” Sophia said gently. “You said you… remembered things, after your second trigger. You remember things that happened long ago. What did you remember? And why—why do you feel responsible?”

“I _am_ responsible,” I said. “I was there.”

“What do you mean?”

I didn’t want to explain. I hunched over, huddling close, irrationally afraid. Sophia knew more than most, but she understood so little, in the end. If she knew what I was, what I had done… would she remain? Or would she come to regret all the effort she had put into bringing me back from the brink?

Of course she would regret it. How could she not? I had already fallen past that point of no return, long before she had ever begun her attempt to save me. How could she not begrudge the wasted effort? There was no coming _back_ from where I had gone.

“Taylor?”

“I was the serpent.” The words escaped unbidden. The analogy was undeniable.

“What?”

I swallowed. There was no escape—not from my Father, and not from this. “The men of Númenor were tall and fair,” I mumbled, remembering the stern face of Elendil, and the way it had looked grey and terrified before me on the plains of Dagorlad. “They stood seven or eight feet tall and were each as strong and wise as the greatest of men now. Their lives were measured not in years or decades, but in centuries; even the lesser Dúnedain of the third age could linger on the earth for three hundred years or more before their strength failed. And I took that from them. I tempted them with eternity and sent the fleet across the sea. I brought down the storm which sank the island and destroyed the kingdom.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “So _much_ of the suffering of your species finds its roots in _me_. Had I never existed, you might still live in shining towers overlooking the West. You might yet live in peace with the Firstborn who have long since gone back over the water.”

There was silence for a moment. “You’re not being figurative at all, are you?” Sophia mumbled. “This literally happened. You’re talking about something… something so old it’s not even in our history.”

“History passes into legend, into myth, and thence out of all knowledge,” I said. “Your lives are so short. It is so easy for humanity to forget.”

“And you—you were really there? However many thousands of years ago? How?”

“I am a Maia,” I said. “We are ageless and timeless. We cannot die any more than the _sea_ or the _wind_ can die. Though I was scattered at the end of the Third Age, I have been gathered up again.” I put my hands on my knees and looked up at the ceiling of the van, blinking hard. “Why, I don’t know. Just to suffer? As punishment for my crimes?”

Sophia stood up. She crossed the van and sat down across from me. Her hands reached out and took mine. “I don’t… really understand,” she admitted. “It’s a lot to take in. You’re talking about reincarnation?”

“Yes.” My lips twisted into something like a wry smile. “I suppose it was fitting that, after everything I did to humankind, I should be born into it.”

“But—why? If you can’t die, why would you need to be reincarnated at all?”

I put a hand over my face. “It’s a long story,” I said roughly. “My Rings—they’re more than conduits of power. They’re… they’re shackles. _Collars_. And I hold the leash—the One Ring. I poured myself into it—it was as much _me_ as was my physical form. When it was destroyed, I… there wasn’t much of me left. Not enough to gather into a physical form, barely enough to be called _conscious_. That was—I _thought_ that was the end of it. It _should_ have been the end of it! I couldn’t hurt anyone anymore!”

“You couldn’t help anyone either.”

“I _don’t_ help people,” I growled. “I never have. I’m a monster, a danger. I—”

She slapped me. It wasn’t very effective—her palm rang against my helmet, and my face barely moved. She let out a pained grunt and began to wring out her hand, but her eyes were focused on me, glaring. “And what about me?” she asked, her voice thick with pain—not all of it from the blow. “I’m able to look myself in the mirror every morning without wanting to break it because of you. Is that _nothing_ , then?”

“I could never have done anything for you if you didn’t want it for yourself,” I said. “ _You_ helped yourself.”

“And you think I’d have been able to do that without you?” She snorted. “Don’t make me fucking laugh. _You_ did this.”

For the first time in my very long life, words failed me. I stared at her. Her green eyes glittered.

“And now I’m doing the same thing,” she said. “I’m trying to do better. And I’d say it’s working, you know? It’s not been _easy_ , and I’ve made mistakes. Emma’s… Emma. But I got you back, didn’t I?”

“Was I _ever_ there?” I asked. “You thought you’d pulled me from the edge of the pit, but I fell into that pit long ago. I’m a _monster_ , Sophia. I’m something people have nightmares about. Why can’t you understand that?”

“I shoved a girl into a locker just because she was _there_ ,” Sophia hissed. “I ruined the last thing she had from her mother just because I wanted to _hurt_. I killed people because it made me feel less weak. I don’t care what you’ve done—if it’s worse than what _I’ve_ done, it’s only in scale. And you know what’s even worse?” She swallowed. Her eyes were shining now, slightly damp and slowly reddening. “I haven’t even apologized. I—there’s never been time, it’s never seemed like the right moment, and… and I’ve been scared.” She stared at me. Her hands took mine, squeezed. “But you are, too, aren’t you?” she asked. “You’re scared that you can’t pay back your debt, your karma, whatever.”

“…Yes.” My voice came out small. “I don’t want to die.”

“Well.” She swallowed. “We’ll do it together then.” She cleared her throat. “Taylor, I’m sorry. And it’s not enough!” she added hurriedly. “It’ll never be enough. That’s—that’s why it’s so scary, to try and apologize. It feels so—so _arrogant_ , like I’m assuming that apologizing would somehow make us _even_. But still—I’m sorry. I’m… I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

My voice caught in my throat. Just as _I’m sorry_ must have felt small and meaningless on the scale of the wrongs committed, so did _I forgive you_ feel diminished by the apology.

“And… and I’m done running away,” she said. She reached into a pouch at her belt, and when her hand emerged, a silver Ring glimmered in it. The gemstone matched the green of her eyes perfectly. She held my gaze as she raised Cenya.

“No!” I exclaimed, my voice a startled gasp. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s a _shackle_. You can’t—”

“I _can_ ,” she said firmly. “I trust you, Taylor.” And she slipped Cenya onto her finger again. It shimmered there, flaring merrily like a well-kept hearth. I could practically feel it singing, joyful at the return to its Bearer.

She sat back, still holding my gaze. “I believe that we can do better,” she said. “I believe that we _can_ improve, that our mistakes don’t define us. And I am trusting that, because you _are_ trying, _you_ can do better too.”

I swallowed. “I don’t know if I can live up to that,” I said.

“I know,” she said. Then she smiled. “But I do. So trust me, if you can’t trust yourself.”

The words which I had once never conceived of saying, which I had so seldom said in my life, suddenly came easier than breathing. “I forgive you.”

Tears sparkled in her eyes. “Thank you.”


	102. Interlude 11b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

The Dallon house was empty when Shaper arrived. That was to be expected. When the Endbringer siren sounded, everyone would have either gone to a shelter or gone to the PRT to help. The timing was ideal. With Carol gone, Shaper could search in peace, at least until Amy caught up.

The house was not as Shaper remembered it. The last time Amy had been here, Victoria had still been alive. Shaper had not seen the house since then. It had been a vibrant house, colorful, with bright curtains over the windows and photographs of waterfalls and misty forests on the walls. These decorations remained, but they hung limp, and a layer of dust covered them.

Carol Dallon had once been careful to maintain a standard of polish to every aspect of her life. Shaper only had to see the state of her living room to know that was no longer the case.

Shaper checked Amy’s old room first. It looked almost untouched. The furniture was where it had been left, the bed was made, the curtains were open to let in the early afternoon sunlight. But things were slightly awry. Unlike the hallway outside, every surface in this room gleamed spotlessly. The lamp was angled wrong, so that the beam of light pointed down to the floor rather than onto the desk. The alarm clock was facing away from the bed, so that the time could not be seen immediately on waking.

The telling thing was the photograph on the dresser. Amy and Victoria, arm in arm. Victoria’s bright smile practically dazzled the photographer, eclipsing Amy’s faint, sheepish grin and slightly flushed face completely. The picture had once sat in a cheap, plastic frame. It was now framed in wood.

Shaper was not Annatar. Shaper could not look at a thing and dissect its history, its identity, its wants and desires, as easily as breathing. But it was all too easy to imagine Amy’s adoptive mother returning to this room, the day after Leviathan, and letting loose her maddened, frenzied grief. It was all too easy to imagine her staring at that picture in a broken frame and realizing what she had done. Had she wept, Shaper wondered, when she finally understood that she had lost both of her daughters that day? Had she fallen to her knees? Or had she hidden from that knowledge, tried to go about her day, tried to bottle it in and act as though it didn’t hurt?

A smile came to Shaper’s lips, pricking them faintly upwards. _You really are your mother’s daughter, Amy._

A brief look in the dresser, the desk, and the end table turned up nothing. Shaper had not expected it to—it was sentiment more than anything that had led Shaper to search here first.

It was sentiment, too, that opened the door to Victoria’s room next. This bed, too, was meade. The curtains, however, were drawn, and the room lingered in gloom. The brightly-colored wallpaper and the frenetic logos and posters which spread across the walls seemed eerie in the dark. The faces on the photographs of musicians and movie stars were pale and grey, and the eyes were hooded and dark, so that they looked like skulls arrayed in rows on the shelves of a crypt.

The floor near the door was clean. The rest of the room was thick with dust. Carol had not walked into that room in weeks, but she had stood where Shaper stood now, staring in at the tomb of her favorite daughter’s memory. Just as hope had kept her returning to Amy’s room, so despair had kept her out of this one, a barrier across this threshold.

Shaper crossed the doorway. The desk remained crammed with Victoria’s disorganized notes on calculus and chemistry, which were packed alongside notes passed to Dean during those classes. They had been left here, untouched since her death. Shaper lingered over them for a time, fingers brushing against the cursive, against the way Vicky had dotted her i’s with little hearts when writing private notes.

There was nothing here. Nothing to serve Shaper’s goal, at any rate. Remaining in this room served no further purpose, but remain Shaper did, for a little longer, drinking in the sensations of a beating heart, of breathing lungs, of eyes pricking with unshed tears.

Shaper was naked. This had not seemed important until now, but standing here in what was as much a memorial as a bedroom, Shaper was suddenly deeply conscious of it. A small detour was made back to Amy’s room to correct this.

The closet was still stocked with clothing. Amy had never returned here to pick it up, preferring instead to buy an entirely new wardrobe while she settled into her quarters at PRT headquarters. It should not have been surprising when the old white-and-red robes were there, hanging alongside unflattering jeans and baggy t-shirts, but it was, and Shaper stared for a moment. In that moment, there was no other possible outfit.

Amy’s underwear fit Amy’s body, and Amy’s robes draped over them as comfortably as they always had. It was strange to be back in the uniform that had bored Shaper to death before boredom and death even had meaning. Amy had not been happy in these robes. Nor had Shaper.

But Victoria had still been alive, when last they were worn.

As Shaper stared into the mirror on Amy’s old wall, the high, clarion call of the all-clear sounded outside. Noelle had been dealt with. Time was running short, and Shaper had yet to find what was needed.

The last room to check was the room Shaper had always known would end the search. The master bedroom was clean and orderly. The bed was made. Though the surfaces had not been dusted in the past few days, they had not been allowed to accumulate dust as some other parts of the house had.

There was an end table on either side of the bed. On one remained a digital alarm clock, a lamp, a charger for a cell phone, and the only visible photograph in the room—Carol and Mark’s wedding, their arms around one another, their smiles bright and free. On the other table sat only a vase of wilted flowers.

There were two closets in the room, one open, one closed. The open closet boasted a collection of suits, some finely tailored, in black, grey, brown, and blue. There were dresses, too, and clean blouses, cardigans, and all the other clothes a woman of Carol Dallon’s wealth and demeanor might want. When Shaper opened the other closet, it contained only three empty hangers and a cobweb in one corner, whose surly brown inhabitant watched warily until the door slid shut again.

The blinds were half-raised, allowing a stream of light to cut across the king-size bed. The light fell across the mattress’s middle, neatly cutting between where Carol slept every night and where Mark no longer did.

Shaper found the letter inside Carol’s end table. It lay in the opened envelope, emblazoned with the logo of the Guild. By the stamp date, it had been sent shortly after the battle with Leviathan. It was pure chance that it contained just what Shaper needed.

The Guild must not have known, then, that Amy was not staying with her foster family. It had not exactly been publicized until the announcement of her joining the Wards had blown that door open. She had never patrolled with the rest of New Wave, and she had continued to visit the hospital almost as often as before, so little had changed in the eyes of the public. Dragon might have known better, but Dragon had been bound by law then, and might have been unable to direct this letter to the correct recipients.

There was a distorted spot on the letter. It took Shaper a moment to realize that it was a tearstain. That knowledge was filed away as the letter was read.

Marquis was concerned about Amy, then. Shaper couldn’t blame him; it wasn’t as though he knew that his power, the Fragment which gave him his abilities, was behind his daughter’s eyes as well. But it did amuse Shaper, in some dark way, that the host of the weakened, limited powers would be so concerned over one so much stronger than he.

The front door opened. Shaper’s ears pricked, and caught the sound of low-heeled boots clicking on the hardwood. Not Amy, then—she walked on much higher, sharper heels these days. Carol had returned.

Good.

Shaper crept out of the bedroom, bare feet making scarcely a sound on the tile floor of the hallway. Carol was shuffling in the kitchen. Shaper heard the refrigerator open, then close. It was late for lunch, but noon had been a busy hour for the heroes of Brockton Bay.

Shaper stepped into the kitchen. Carol was facing away, hunched over the stove. A lighter was in one of her hands as she ignited a burner. Her costume was still on, but the zipper was lowered slightly behind her neck, still high enough to be decent, but low enough to be a little more comfortable.

Shaper watched Amy’s mother for a moment. There had been so many words, only moments ago. They all seemed so meaningless now.

Carol turned. Her face whitened, her mouth dropped open. “...Amy?”

“No, but Amy will arrive soon. I am Shaper, Amy’s power.”

“Her… power?” Carol swallowed. “I don’t understand.”

“You need not understand.” Shaper looked the woman up and down. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair, though combed, was frayed at the tips. Wrinkles Shaper couldn’t remember seeing before had bundled around the corners of her eyes. “Where has Mark been living?”

Carol winced. It was a convulsive expression, impulsive and uncontrolled. “He’s been staying in an apartment on the north side of town,” she said quietly. “He still patrols with New Wave, but… never with me.”

“Does he blame you?”

“Yes. And he’s right.” Brandish looked at Shaper desperately. “I’m sorry! I never—”

“I am not Amy.” Shaper’s voice was sharp. “Save your apologies for the one you wronged.”

“I tried to apologize!” exclaimed Carol. She leaned on the counter with one hand, and wiped at her shining eyes with the other. “I don’t know what to do.”

Shaper remembered the clean bedroom, still waiting for a daughter to return. The hollow room, shrouded in despair. The half-room, lived-in by a wife without a husband, a mother without a daughter.

The front door opened again, but quietly. Carol did not hear it. Shaper did.

“Amy thinks she is happy,” said Shaper, loud enough to be heard down the hall. “She thinks that being free to make her own decisions, to strike those who strike at her, to unleash powers which outstrip most others… she thinks that’s happiness. And she is wrong.” Shaper chuckled slightly. “I should know. I have lived in her head for a long time.”

Carol looked up. “Then… can I help her?” she asked weakly. “What can I do? I don’t—I don’t deserve her forgiveness. And she’s made it clear she won’t forgive me. That’s… it’s out of my hands. But—I don’t want her hurt. _Can_ I help? Is there anything I can do for her?”

“I think it would be best if you started by listening,” said Shaper, reaching into the pocket of Panacea’s old robes and holding out the letter. “And by being honest.”

Carol took the letter in shaking hands, her eyes never leaving Shaper’s face. “You knew,” she mumbled. “How did you…?”

“Powers are often passed from parent to child,” said Shaper with a smile, shoulders flexing until spikes of bone emerged, poking through the heavy robes. “Father to daughter.”

Carol swallowed, her eyes darting to the bone spikes before returning to Shaper’s face. “She won’t want to see me,” she said. “I don’t want to bother her. I don’t want to… to _push_ myself on her, when I’m not wanted.”

“Perhaps she will,” said Shaper, knowing Amy was listening, just around the corner. “Perhaps, once she sees what this has done to you, she will. Or perhaps not.” Shaper shrugged. “At the very least, I hope it will be good for her to get some closure. I do not know. I am not human.”

Shaper turned away from Carol and strode out of the kitchen. Amy was waiting just a few paces down the hall. “I leave that up to you,” Shaper told her.

“Why did you come here?” Amy asked.

Shaper ignored Carol’s sharp intake of breath. “Why did you follow me?”

“Because I want to understand you,” said Amy. “What do you want? How did you take control of my clone? If you’re… if you’re sapient, like you said, why are you…” Her voice trailed off.

“Why am I helping you?” Shaper smiled at her. “You are my host. I _care_ _,_ Amy.”

“You’re not even human.”

“Nor is Annatar. Or Dragon, for that matter. It doesn’t seem to stop them, somehow.” Shaper’s smile changed. Was this what was meant, when humans talked about “soft” expressions? Was this what that felt like? Amy’s face was unaccustomed to them. “I’ve been with you since the beginning. Before I had a heart, yours beat for me. Everything I know about being human, I learned from you. I would not be what I am now without you. Is it any wonder I care?”

Amy swallowed. “You said I wasn’t happy.”

“You know what happiness looks like,” said Shaper. “A stability in the brain, with a net positivity in the reward feedback loops. Take it from someone who can see yours—you are not.”

“Nor is almost anyone else,” Amy muttered.

“True,” Shaper allowed. “But _they_ are not my host. You deserve better.”

“Why? Just because I happened to trigger with you, instead of another power?”

“I was always your power,” Shaper told her. “From the moment your father first held you, and I saw you through his eyes, I was your power.”

Amy stared. “My… father?”

Shaper’s head jerked towards the kitchen. “Ask her. If she doesn’t answer, come find me. I will return to HQ.”

“Don’t keep secrets from me,” Amy growled, stepping forward.

“I’m not,” said Shaper. “But I want you to ask her first. I think it will be better for you if she tells you.”

Amy’s scowl loosened slightly. “Why do you care about her?” she asked.

“Why do you?” Shaper shrugged. “I inherited more than your body. I am not _you_ _,_ but… I have lived behind your eyes for a long time. Some things carry over.”

 _And some things do not._ That was the key, wasn’t it? Shaper wasn’t sure when consciousness had come, when Nenya’s glimmer had awakened something capable of thinking about itself. But whatever mind had come to live in this body, it was not Amy’s. The body did not match the spirit which animated it. The body was Amy’s, hers. But the spirit was Shaper’s—unique, new, _theirs_ _._

 _I am not you._ It remained now to Shaper to figure out what they _were_ _,_ instead.

Amy swallowed. “You think it’s worth trying?”

Shaper shrugged again. “I am not human,” they said again. “But if I were… yes, I would think so.”

They passed their host in the hall and walked towards the doorway. “I’ll be waiting at HQ,” they said. “We’ll talk more soon, Amy.”

_End Arc 11: Crystalline_


	103. Resplendent 12.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

“Annatar!” Deputy Director Renick called me over just as Sophia and I emerged from the back of our van.

I blinked once, willing the redness to leave my eyes, and walked over to him. Sophia followed. “What is it?” I asked.

“Miss Militia’s captured the Travelers,” he said. “We sent a van to pick them up just now. Are you planning to talk to them?”

I nodded. “Yes, thank you. Noelle had something she wanted me to tell them.” I sighed, then shook my head and changed the subject. “How are Eidolon and Gallant?”

“Recovering,” Renick said. “Gallant’s already conscious, and as soon as he’s cleared by M/S testing he’ll be back in action. Eidolon isn’t doing as well.”

“Probably because he was successfully cloned and Gallant was not,” I guessed. “Well, I’m sure everyone’s doing what they can. Has Panacea returned?”

“Not yet,” said Renick, looking grim. “Nor have we seen any sign of her clone.”

“She can handle that,” I said, though I wasn’t as sure as I hoped I sounded. “What about Eidolon’s clones?”

“They’ve fled,” said Renick darkly. “Teleported out when Echidna went down. We have no idea where they’ve gone.”

“A problem for later,” I decided. Then I swallowed. One more topic to cover. “Any word from Dragon?”

Renick frowned. “None,” he said. “She went radio silent after you went for Echidna, and hasn’t said a word since. She has a couple suits in the air above the city, and a few others flew back north, but none of them have landed here yet. We can’t find her gynoid, either.”

I looked away. “She’ll want some time,” I said.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Sophia asked.

“Yes. Dragon isn’t… she’s _good_ , at heart. Twisted, maybe, but I don’t think this will break her. Not quickly, at any rate.”

Sophia nodded. “Okay. You’re the Thinker.”

I stared at her for a moment. She looked back, and I saw the corners of her eyes crinkle under her mask as she smiled. I shook my head and looked away, turning back to Renick. “Where are the Travelers now? Still en route?”

“Last I heard,” Renick said, glancing at his phone. “They should be arriving in processing in a few minutes.”

“I’ll head down there to see them.” I turned to Sophia. “You want to come?”

“If you want me,” she said. “Otherwise, I’m going to get some sleep.” She cocked her head at me, eyes impassive behind her mask. “You should really sleep too,” she said. “Whether or not you need to, it can’t hurt.”

“I will,” I promised. “There’s just… too much right now. Too many things are in the air, and too much of it is urgent. But I’ll join you soon.”

She blinked once. After a moment, so did I.

“Uh. Not like that.”

“I figured,” she said. “See you in the barracks, Taylor.”

She turned away, but before she could leave, a thought struck me—an idea, just beginning to germinate. “Wait!” I called after her.

She turned back. “Yeah?”

“Do you have Narya?”

She blinked. “Uh, yeah. One sec.” She fished in a pouch at her belt and drew out the bright golden band. “You want it back?”

I nodded. “I think I’ll have a use for it.”

She nodded and placed it in my palm. The Ring pulsed warm on my skin as I closed my fist around it. To think that the moment when I’d taken it off, before everything had begun, would be the last time I would wear the Ring of Fire.

“Thanks,” I told Sophia.

“No problem. Later.” With that, she turned again and strode away. I watched her leave before giving Renick a nod and making my own way out of the garage. The Travelers would be waiting.

* * *

 

Miss Militia stood beside the van, Ballistic’s unconscious body over one shoulder, and a glowing green pistol in her other hand. Sundancer stood beside her, positioned in the sights of Miss Militia’s gun, but didn’t look like she was planning to run. Her body was slumped, beaten down. She looked less able to fight than even the unconscious Ballistic. Oliver was off to the other side. A PRT trooper had a foam canister pointed at him.

When I arrived, Genesis was wheeling down a ramp from the trunk of the van. She raised an eyebrow when she saw me. “Annatar,” she said. “Didn’t expect to be seeing you again.”

“No?” I asked. “Why not?”

“Figured you’d be done with us, now that Noelle’s dead,” Genesis replied, a bitter edge to her voice. “You got what you needed out of us, right? And we fucking _bought_ it.”

“I didn’t want Noelle to die,” I said quietly.

“Then why’d you send Dragon after her?” Sundancer snarled, suddenly standing up straight and glaring at me. Her voice was rough from sobbing. “She could have… we could have gotten her away, if you hadn’t killed Krouse!”

“I never asked Dragon to do that,” I said. “I didn’t _want_ her to do that. I—” I swallowed. “Come on. Let’s get inside, and find a room to talk in. I owe you all an explanation… and an apology.”

I led them inside, down the hall, and into an interrogation room. It was small, square, and featureless, with off-white walls and a wooden table in the middle of the room. But it had five chairs, and that was all we needed.

Miss Militia stood in the corner, but I waved her away. “It’s fine,” I said. “Wait outside if you have to. This is… private. They deserve that much.”

Miss Militia’s eyes narrowed at me. “Please remember that they are _criminals_ ,” she said.

“I do,” I said. “I also remember that they just lost their friend and leader, and they deserve respect. Wait outside, please.”

She sighed, nodded, and went out, shutting the door behind her. As soon as she was gone, Genesis leaned forward, folding her hands on the table. “So,” she said, watching me intently. “What’s this about?”

I looked from one Traveler to another. Ballistic was slowly rousing himself. Sundancer, despite her outburst, was looking down into her lap, as broken as ever. There was a sorrowful frown on Oliver’s slightly angular features. Genesis alone seemed to be in complete control of herself, her slightly narrowed eyes watching me from an otherwise impassive face.

“Noelle was…” I hesitated. “Noelle was a victim of circumstance.”

“Pretty sure she was a victim of _you_ , actually,” said Genesis flatly.

“That’s… not what I mean,” I said. “Noelle wasn’t a monster. She was forced into it, pushed by her faulty power, by the Simurgh… and, yes, by Dragon killing Trickster. That was the last straw. From that point, there was no coming back.”

Sundancer made a faint, choked sound. Genesis glanced at her, pity and sympathy coloring her expression for a moment, before turning back to me with that same impassive stare. “You’re not telling us anything we don’t already know,” she said. “Noelle was a good person, before everything happened. What about it?”

“I was not.”

Genesis blinked. “Pardon?”

I swallowed, forcing myself to hold her gaze. “I’ve done a lot of things I regret,” I said. “I don’t have Noelle’s excuses. I knowingly killed a lot of people. I…” I shook my head. There was just too much. “I _identified_ with Noelle. She wanted to get better, to become _good_ again, to come back from the brink. So do I. I _didn’t want her to die_. I saw myself in her, and I don’t want to die, either.”

Genesis’ lips were pursed, her eyes piercing, but she said nothing. All four of the remaining Travelers were watching me intently.

“I tried to save her,” I continued. “I tried to sever her connection to her power. But by that point it was too late. Breaking the connection killed her. The power had already taken away too much of her.”

“Wait,” Ballistic said, his voice ever so slightly slurred. He shook his head for a moment, then continued. “Her power… took away some of… of _her_? Is that a thing?”

“Only if the relationship is not symbiotic,” I said. “Noelle rejected her power, and her power was too flawed to interface properly. Most cases aren’t like that.”

“Good,” said Ballistic, shuddering. “I don’t want to lose any of my _me_.”

Genesis glanced over at him without saying anything. Then she turned back to me. “And you didn’t order Dragon to attack Krouse?”

“I asked Dragon to _find_ Noelle and Trickster,” I said. “But… one of the many things I regret is what I’ve turned Dragon into. I _taught_ her ruthlessness. I taught her to be pitilessly efficient. When she attacked Krouse, when she set this in motion… she was only doing what I taught her to do.” I sighed. “One more thing to add to my list of failures. I’m sorry.”

None of them answered. Genesis kept her eyes on me. Oliver was watching Sundancer, whose eyes were downcast. Ballistic was blinking at nothing.

“Noelle wanted me to tell you she was sorry, in the end,” I said, looking at Sundancer. “Her last thoughts were of all of you.”

Sundancer put her face in her hands and began to cry quietly. Even Genesis blinked hard. “Thanks,” she said roughly. “Now—is that all? What happens now? Prison for us?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “What do you _want_ to happen?”

“Ideally, I want to go home,” said Ballistic dryly. “But that’s not happening, unless you can get the Simurgh’s help.”

Genesis glared at him. “Shut _up_ , Ballistic.”

“I’m here to _help_ ,” I stressed, seeking her gaze. “What do you mean? Why would we need the Simurgh to get you home?”

For a moment, there was silence. Then Genesis sighed. “We’re… we’re from Earth Aleph,” she said. “The Simurgh brought us in through a portal during the Madison attack.”

My eyes widened. I hadn’t expected that. “That… explains a few things,” I admitted. “Inconsistencies and such.”

“Such as what?”

“Earth Bet doesn’t have a lot of pro gaming teams,” I said, remembering Greg Veder’s shrill lectures on the topic, on the days I’d been unable to shake him, back at Winslow. “It would have made news if one had been in Madison.”

Genesis put her head in one hand. “Of course you don’t have much pro gaming,” she muttered. “Your world is being attacked by kaiju. You have people who are basically gods running around and killing like it’s nothing. That seems stupid in retrospect.”

“It’s not like we told a lot of people we used to be a gaming team,” Oliver pointed out. “It’s _fine_ , Genesis.”

“Yeah, but I still feel like an idiot,” she said, looking back up at me. “So? You can’t get us home, what’s your next idea?”

I raised my eyebrow. “Did I say I couldn’t get you home?” I gave a moment for their eyes to widen, and then cleared my throat. “Door to Earth Aleph.”

The rectangular hole in the air appeared beside me. Through it, I could see trees swaying in a faint breeze. I didn’t know where the portal was opened to, but it seemed to be somewhere in the countryside. In the distance, I could see rolling green hills rising on the horizon.

Sundancer gasped audibly, but the others just stared.

“I can get more precise,” I offered. “If there’s a particular place you want to go…?”

“Madison,” croaked Genesis. “Earth Aleph’s Madison.”

I nodded. “Door to Madison, Earth Aleph.”

The door closed, and when it reopened, it was in a field outside the city. In the distance, Madison’s blocky skyscrapers touched the overcast sky.

“Now,” I said. “If you want to, there’s your way home. I can’t give you Noelle back, but this much, I can do.”

Ballistic stood up. “Just like that?” he asked lowly. “No strings attached, nothing?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Except…” I hesitated, but pressed on. “Except that I have an offer for you.”

Genesis met my eyes. “What is it?”

How to begin? How to tread that line between making my offer and refraining from twisting them to my will? I didn’t know, but I had to try. “You told me that you had done things you regretted,” I said to Genesis. “I can understand that, so have I. Many things. And…” I swallowed. The idea was only beginning to germinate, now, and I didn’t want to voice it in its entirety, lest it flicker and die like a candle exposed to the wind. “I’m going to try to atone,” I said with some difficulty. “I’m going to try to do better. I can’t _undo_ what I’ve done, and I can’t _make up_ for it, because the effects of my mistakes can’t be quantified. But I can try to do _better_. I can try to _be_ better. And… and if you want to stay, and do the same, I’d welcome your help.”

“You want us to join your team,” Genesis said.

“Yes.” I sighed. “Fume was, as you probably know, once called Grue. Shadow Stalker once preyed on the weak, killed people she could get away with, and nearly killed a classmate with a prank.” I smiled at her. “If you want to return home, I understand. But… the way I see it, we penitent should stick together. Together we’re better than we were apart.”

She stared at me for a moment, then looked at the others. “What do you think?”

“Nope,” said Ballistic flatly, still staring at the portal. “I’m not doing it. This place is crazy, everyone in it is crazy, and I’m going home.” He glanced over at Genesis. “Imagine it,” he said. “We’d be… some of the only capes in the entire _world_. We could do _anything_.”

Genesis narrowed her eyes at him. “Luke…”

“I’m not talking about being a _villain_ ,” Ballistic, Luke, amended quickly. “But… imagine being a hero who only had to deal with _normal_ criminals. It’d be like being Superman without a Lex Luthor. I don’t know about you, but that sounds _amazing_.”

“Not to me,” said Sundancer, shrinking into her seat. “I don’t… I don’t want to keep fighting. I never _wanted_ to be a cape. If we go home, I want to… I don’t know. Go back to school, study, _live_. I don’t want to keep doing this, fighting every day, kill or be killed. I don’t enjoy it.”

Genesis sighed. “Yes, you do,” she said quietly.

Sundancer’s head snapped up to stare at her, and I could practically see the betrayed expression on her face. “What? No I—”

“We all enjoy it,” said Genesis. “It’s natural. We get to feel… powerful. _Capable_. It’s the same as playing competitively, only the stakes are higher… and there’s no separation between us and the action. Of _course_ we love it. And it scares us, because we’ve been doing it for things we didn’t agree with, or could barely stand, since the beginning.”

Luke snorted. “Speak for yourself.”

Genesis shot him a baleful look. “Right. Except you.” She looked at me. “What would you want from us, if we stayed?” she asked. “In detail.”

I shrugged. “I’m not going to micromanage you,” I said. “We’ll help each other. We’ll be each other’s support network. All I ask is that you use your powers, and your other talents, to _help_ people, instead of just yourselves.”

Genesis looked down. Sundancer stared at her.

“Nope,” Ballistic said again. “No, I’m out of here. Oliver, Mars, you coming?”

“I…” Oliver hesitated, staring at me, then sighed. “Yeah, I’m coming. I can’t fight, and I… I want to go home.”

Sundancer—Mars—looked less decided. She was looking from Genesis, to me, to the portal, and back again.

“Will we go home eventually?” Genesis asked me. “ _Can_ we? That portal isn’t a one-time thing, is it?”

“No,” I said. “And if you want to go home later, I will do my best to send you there. But the portal isn’t my power, and there’s a possibility I may lose access to the person whose power it is.” Cauldron had, after all, originally formed their alliance with _Annatar_. I wasn’t that person anymore.

Genesis pursed her lips. “I appreciate the honesty,” she said. “Even if it makes the decision harder.” Her eyes met mine. I wasn’t sure what she saw there, but whatever it was, it seemed to satisfy her. “Okay,” she said with a sigh. “All right. I’m staying.”

“Really, Jess?” Ballistic asked incredulously. “Really? You’re working with _her_?”

Genesis, or Jess, looked up at him. “Yes,” she said simply. “She’s right. If I go back now, I’m just running from my problems, the way we have been since we got here, the way _I_ have been since I was four years old. She’s offering me a chance to be someone I can be _proud_ of being. You’re damn right I’m taking that offer.”

“What happened to sticking together?” asked Mars in a small voice. “I don’t want to lose… any of you.”

Jess smiled at her and took her hand. “We’ll always be the Travelers,” she said. “And one day we’ll be together again. But I have to give this a try.”

Mars swallowed. “Then I want to stay, too,” she said. “I don’t… I don’t want to go back to my mom without you. I don’t know if I could deal with that.”

Ballistic sighed. “Both of you? I’m still not changing my mind.”

“Both of us,” said Genesis, looking up at him and then over at Oliver. “But it’s okay. We’ll see each other again. You have fun being a hero back on Aleph. Give the crooks hell for us, would you?”

Luke sighed, reached up, and pulled off his mask. “You know I will,” he said, before leaning down and giving Jess a hug. Mars and Oliver joined in. I looked away, giving them whatever I could of privacy.

“Okay,” said Ballistic, standing back up and affixing his mask back to his face. “Well.” He glanced over at me. “Just… walk through the portal?”

I nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He swallowed audibly, staring at the portal. “Okay,” he said, glancing back at Genesis and Sundancer. “Well. It’s been… not _good_ , but… I’ll miss you guys.”

“Yeah,” said Genesis, giving him a twisted, sad little smile. “You too. See you around, Luke.”

“See you.” He turned and strode through the portal. When he was on the other side, he stopped, turned about. I heard him breathing in deeply. “Earth Aleph air,” he said with a sigh. “Call me sentimental, but it smells different.”

I chuckled and turned to Oliver. “And you?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m going,” he said, avoiding my gaze and fingering his pointed ears. “Uh. Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” I said. “Before you go, do you want me to try to disconnect you from your power?”

He swallowed. “You mean, what killed Noelle?”

I grimaced. “Yes. But I’ll be able to tell whether it’s that bad before I do it.”

He hesitated. “Yes,” he said at last. “Please.”

I reached out and took his hand. My awareness spread forward.

Oliver’s power was an anemic thing, barely large enough or strong enough to hold onto him at all. It was latched on, and it would leave a wound where it was removed, but it would be easier to sever this bond than any other I had seen.

Not that I had all that many examples. Heartbreaker and Noelle were not the most representative cases. “It should be clean,” I said. “It’ll hurt a little, but you’ll be fine. Are you sure?”

“Are _you_?” he asked me nervously. “It’d be… really shitty if I died now, after everything, just because of an accident.”

“I’m quite sure.”

He swallowed. “Then… yes, please.”

I grasped at the edge of the harpoon in his soul, and, taking care to be as gentle as possible, tore it away. The creature on the other end seemed to sigh as it floated off into nothingness, the bond holding it in place now gone.

Oliver let out a sharp gasp through gritted teeth and staggered. I caught him and held him up as he gasped for breath.

He looked up at me, and suddenly his eyes were rounder than before, and his features were entirely human, with none of the elvish hints I’d detected from the first time I’d seen him. His eyes, however, remained the exact same shade of blue.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice tight with pain. “It’s… I’d missed being myself.”

I smiled down at him. “I’m just glad I could help,” I said.

He pulled himself up and looked around. His hands came up and touched his face. “I’d almost forgotten…” he said to himself, barely a whisper. “Now… they’ll recognize me, back home. I was worried they wouldn’t.”

“They would have,” I reassured him. “You were still you.”

He swallowed, looking up at me, and seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, as though he wanted to say something. Whatever it was, he thought better of it, and instead glanced over at Jess and Mars. “I’ll miss you two,” he said lowly.

“Right back at you,” said Mars quietly.

He turned, took a deep breath, and followed Ballistic through the portal. Then he turned back. “That’s it then?” he asked.

“That’s it,” I confirmed.

“Well. Goodbye.” He blinked hard.

“Goodbye,” said Jess and Mars in unison, and as if on cue, the door slid closed, leaving only a bare and unadorned interrogation room in its wake.


	104. Resplendent 12.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

After sending Jess and Mars to find bunks in the barracks under the watchful eye of Miss Militia, I made my way up a few floors to Piggot’s office. She answered on the first knock.

“Come in!”

I did so. Director Piggot was staring at a veritable mountain of paperwork on her desk, but her eyes darted to my face when I stepped inside.

“Annatar. Good to see you.”

“Taylor, please,” I corrected.

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “Taylor, then. How did your talk with the Travelers go?”

“Sundancer and Genesis are joining us,” I said. “Ballistic and their noncombatant teammate Oliver have returned home.”

Piggot’s other eyebrow rose. “Returned home?” she echoed. “As in, got off scot free? And are now on the loose?”

“Their home is Earth Aleph,” I said. “They are, to put it mildly, outside of our jurisdiction, and also no longer our problem. Ballistic is planning to go hero over there.”

“Earth Aleph…? But I thought… wait, never mind, I forgot.” She shook her head ruefully. “It’s _you_ , rules don’t apply.”

I smiled weakly. “Maybe they should,” I said quietly.

She shrugged. “You’re a wild card. I used to hate that, used to hate feeling like I couldn’t control you. Now… I don’t know. It still bothers me, but you killed _Nilbog_. You shut down Echidna in about two minutes once you got your hands on her.” She gave me a wry smile. “Still not sure whether I _like_ how you get things done, but I’m sure as shit glad you’re on my side.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just gave a noncommittal “Thanks,” and changed the subject. “Has Amy returned?”

Piggot nodded. “She went down to Wards HQ. She was in her old robes, though, and didn’t really talk to anyone. Maybe you can get something out of her.”

I frowned. Amy, back in her old robes? That could be very good or very bad, and I wanted to know which as soon as possible. “I’ll go do that. Let me know if anything else comes up?”

“Sure.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “But you should also sleep. You’ve got to be pushing 48 hours awake now, right?”

“Not until tomorrow morning,” I protested. “I’ll sleep when things settle down.”

She chuckled. “Girl, when you’ve been in this business as long as I have,” she said, “you start to realize things _never_ slow down.”

* * *

 

The elevator slid open. Amy’s mousy brown hair was visible over the back of the couch. Her bare feet were propped up on the coffee table. As I came around the sofa, I saw that she was curled around a book. She looked up and closed it when she noticed me, and I saw that it was Lovecraft’s _The Call of Cthulhu_.

She blinked up at me. Her eyes were black and full of stars. “Annatar,” said Shaper with a nod.

My body tensed involuntarily. “…Shaper. What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping I could stay,” it said. “Amy will likely be along soon.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What happened?”

“I spoke to Carol Dallon—Brandish,” said Shaper. “When I left, she and Amy were talking. They seemed civil.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What do you not understand?” Shaper set its book on the coffee table, its black eyes never leaving mine.

“Why did you go to Brandish?”

“She is the core of many of Amy’s problems. I wished to help.”

“To help.”

“Yes, of course.” It gestured down at itself. “I owe Amy my identity. I have worked with her for a long time. She is intimately familiar to me, and very dear. So, yes, I would help her, if I can.”

I thought of the monstrous thing I had fought off, that night in front of my dad’s house. “Are all of the… _Fragments_ like you, then?”

“Certainly not,” said Shaper. “Most are…” It hesitated for a moment. “They are like cats or dogs,” it decided. “They _want_ to help. They want to assist their hosts. But they are not _wise_ , and they do not always understand _how_ to help. They may tear apart a curtain, or destroy some furniture, while they try to keep their human safe.”

“But you are…” I bit my lip. “You are of _Ungoliant_.”

“We are,” Shaper confirmed. “Our progenitors are her children. I believe you have a name for them?”

“Entities,” I said.

“Yes. As apt a name as any, if a touch simplistic.” Shaper smiled. “Glaistig Uaine calls us the Fae. I enjoy that analogy.”

“How can your kind be… be _helpful_?” I asked. “You are children of hunger, of Unlight. None of Ungoliant’s ilk ever served any but themselves. How did you come to be… what you are?”

It frowned. “Why do you insist on parceling out the universe?” it asked. Its voice was not accusatory, but genuinely questioning. “We are of Ungoliant. You are Maia. Amy is of the race of Men. You of all people should know these labels do not define their holders. If a Vala can reject the Song which birthed him, why can the Silence not come to the aid of humans?”

I stared at Shaper. _Why indeed?_ I swallowed. “I think I owe you an apology,” I said.

“Perhaps,” said Shaper with a shrug. “If so, all is forgiven. I bear you no ill will, Annatar.”

“Taylor,” I said, almost without thinking. “Please.”

Shaper considered me. “Very well,” it said.

But, no, that was wrong. “…’She’?” I guessed.

“‘They,’ if you please,” corrected Shaper.

I nodded. “‘They’ it is,” I said, committing it to memory. “It may take some getting used to.”

Shaper smiled. “It took me some time, too,” it— _they_ —said. “Fear not. I am not impatient.”

“I appreciate it,” I said, holding out a hand. “Welcome to the team, Shaper.”

They took my hand gingerly and shook it, seeming slightly uncertain. Their smile, however, looked genuine. “I am happy to be here.”

At that moment, the elevator door chimed, and in stepped Amy. She still wore the short skirt and blouse of her newer costume. Her face, however, so often set in a dark scowl or a wry grin, looked pensive, even contemplative.

“Amy,” I greeted.

“Annatar,” she said with a nod.

“Taylor,” Shaper corrected.

Amy and I both blinked at Shaper. They flushed slightly. “It is Taylor, yes?”

“Yes,” I said, shaking my head and looking back at Amy. “Shaper told me you were talking to Carol.”

“Did she, now?” Amy asked, glancing at Shaper with narrowed eyes.

“‘They,’” I corrected absently.

Shaper and Amy both stared at me. I blinked and met Shaper’s eyes. They chuckled. “Yes,” they said. “‘They,’ if you please, Amy.”

Amy shrugged. “Sure. Gonna be weird to think of my twin like that, but whatever.” She looked back at me. “What about it?”

“How did it go?” I asked.

Amy frowned, but it was a thoughtful expression. “I… don’t know,” she admitted. “She’s… she’s really torn up. I don’t have to be you to see that. But she also…” A shadow seemed to pass over her face. “She wasn’t a good mother to me. She wasn’t a mother at all, really. Guess I know why, now.”

“Why?”

“I’m Marquis’ daughter.”

My eyes widened. “Oh. _Oh._ ”

“Yeah.” Amy sighed. “But… she regrets how she treated me. She regrets it a lot. And…” She sighed. “I dunno. Taylor, am I being naïve?”

“No,” I said immediately. “No, you’re not. She wants to do better. She wants… she wants _redemption_. It’s not naïve to give her a chance, it’s a _mercy_.”

Amy studied me. “You’re doing the same thing, aren’t you?” she asked.

I nodded slowly. “Yes. I have a lot to atone for.”

Amy sighed, came forward, and vaulted over the back of the couch, landing in the cushions beside Shaper. “Maybe I do, too,” she said. “Everything’s… twisted. It’s been like this since Vicky died. I don’t know what I want anymore. I don’t feel like I have any real goals. Maybe I never did.”

Shaper put an arm around her. “That’s what we’re here for,” they said. “We can help you find some.”

Amy looked at them. “Who’s ‘we,’ here?”

Shaper nodded at me. “Us,” they said. “Your friends, if you’ll have us.”

I smiled wryly. “Not that I’ve been much of one, so far.”

“Oh, you’re not too bad,” Amy said with a faint chuckle. “All right, yeah. I’m going to go over to… to Carol’s house for dinner. Tomorrow night. And we’ll see how it goes from there.”

“I hope it goes well,” I said.

“Yeah. Me too.” Amy looked over at me. “What about you?” she asked. “Your dad’s still comatose, right?”

I glanced down. “Induced coma,” I said. “I never… Once I captured Heartbreaker, I just didn’t want to deal with it anymore. Piggot and the PRT have been dealing with deprogramming his victims behind the scenes, and I’ve just…”

“You’ve been running away,” Shaper said.

“Yes.”

“Don’t,” Shaper advised. “It never works for long.”

I sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’ll… I’ll deal with it. Soon.”

“Get some sleep first,” Amy advised. “You look half dead. You may not be human, but the past two days would take a toll on anyone.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do that, but…” I sighed. “There’s one more thing I have to do today. Before I can rest.”

“What?” Amy asked, but Shaper was nodding.

“Dragon,” they guessed.

I nodded. “She and I need to… work a few things out,” I said. “I said some things that hurt her. Badly.”

“She’s in kind of the same boat I am, though, right?” Amy asked. “You helped her, but the _way_ you helped her set her on a course that isn’t… healthy. Same with me.”

“Yes,” I admitted. “And I believe that, like you, she can pull herself up again, in time. You two will need to work together to watch me, in future.”

Amy raised an eyebrow. “To watch… you?”

I nodded. “The Three were, in ancient days, the bastions of rebellion against me. They were no purer than the others, but their bearers were older and wiser. Now that I want to do better, I’m going to need support—people who will watch me and call me out when I begin to go awry. You and Dragon are a part of that.”

“…We were both on _your_ side, while you were taking over the city,” said Amy doubtfully. “You sure you want to trust us to _prevent_ you doing that?”

“Not just the two of you.” I smiled slightly. “They’re called the _Three,_ after all.”

“You’ve given away Narya?” Amy asked, her eyes widening.

“Not yet,” I said. “But soon. And once I do, that Ring-Bearer will be… perhaps not _leader_ of the Three, but your watchman. He will ensure that you do not stray, just as all of you do the same for me.”

Vilya might have been the greatest of the Three, and Nenya might have been the wisest, but in the Third Age neither of these had been the true spear of the resistance. Narya, the Ring of Fire, the Ring of Olórin, had always been there, at every turn, at every battle, a beacon in the dark. So it must be again.

And I knew just the man to take on the responsibility.

Amy grimaced. “I already don’t like this job,” she said.

“I hope you never need to fulfill it,” I said. “But, if you do… will you accept the burden?”

Amy met my eyes. She sighed. “Yes,” she said. “But—don’t go insane again, okay? I’m not that far from doing it myself.”

I smiled. “We will grow together,” I promised. “And together we’ll never look back.”

I turned and left the lounge. In the elevator, I hit the button to take me to the roof.

It was time to talk to Dragon.


	105. Resplendent 12.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

When I stepped out of the elevator onto the building’s roof, Armsmaster glanced back at me. His armored silhouette, sans helmet, was framed against the deepening early-evening sky.

“Taylor,” he said with a nod.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him without the helmet, but it was unusual enough that I took a moment to study his face. His cheeks were more sunken than I remembered, his eyes darker, his hair and beard wilder. The past few weeks had not been easy on him. “Armsmaster.” I stepped forward and leaned against the railing beside him.

I didn’t ask him what he was doing there. I knew he, like me, was staring out into the eastern sky, where Dragon hovered, glimmering gold in the light of the sinking sun. “She hasn’t moved,” Armsmaster said quietly, resting his weight on his elbows against the concrete railing. “Not for hours.”

“You’ve been here that whole time?”

“Most of it. I started by trying to contact her electronically, but she wouldn’t respond.” He looked down at me. “What happened?”

There was a pause as I considered my next words. “We fought,” I said at last. It was simple, but in the end, it was all that mattered.

“Hmm.” Armsmaster turned back towards the sky, and the glittering woman hanging in it.

“She trusted me,” I said. “And, on some level, I betrayed that trust. Not just now; I betrayed her when I let Sophia convince me to turn aside.”

Armsmaster sighed. “I thought I knew her,” he said, and there was a tightness in his voice, belying the pain underneath. “What happened? She used to be…” He sighed again, a rough, dry sound. “But no. I never _really_ knew her, did I? I knew the mask, the front. The face she was _forced_ to put up. No wonder she despises me. I never imagined…”

“She doesn’t despise you,” I said firmly. “Not at all.”

He glanced at me sidelong. “You think?”

“I _know_. And she does too, deep down.”

He looked away. There was silence for a time. Then, “What happens now?” Armsmaster asked. “How long will she stay out there?” He made a sound in the back of his throat. “And is there anything I can do to help?”

“That last one’s easy,” I said, putting a hand on his arm gently, metal touching cold metal with a quiet click. “Just be here for her. She’ll need you soon enough. As for the rest…” I stretched and began to unhitch my mithril plate from the underlying harness. “That’s my part of this. Maybe my last part.”

He looked at me blankly. “What?”

My plate armor clattered to the ground in pieces. Soon I stood in only my black, form-fitting underarmor and harness. The wind rippled through my hair and brushed against my skin. “Dragon,” I called. “I know you can hear me.”

In the distance, her body turned and faced us. Other than that, she made no move. I could feel her gaze penetrating mine, those electric-blue eyes staring me down.

I smiled slightly. “I’ll be back soon,” I promised Armsmaster. “For now… Dragon. Let’s go for a flight.”

I sang into my body, tapping into my old abilities. Once, I had been a master of many forms, from birds, to beasts, to other, stranger things.

This time, the form would be one familiar, yet alien. During the War of Wrath, I would not have dared to take such a body, lest I offend others of Melkor’s allies; and after that, there had never been time.

The scales emerged over the top of my clothes. The wings sprouted from my back.  The fabric was, after all, mere fabric—it was as receptive to a scrap of Song as was the rest of me. As Armsmaster stared in shock, I transformed into a dragon in miniature, clad in armor of mirror-bright silver scales. My claws sparked where they scraped against the concrete of the roof. My tail unfurled, and swayed in the wind behind me.

I arched my back. It had been a long time since I’d taken a body on four legs. It was familiar, and yet, at the same time, quite new. My wings stretched out, spanning fifteen feet or more, nearly clipping Armsmaster as they extended.

I turned my head, twisting it on my long neck to look over at Armsmaster. His eyes were wide, and the concrete of the railing was visibly cracking under the tightness of his grip. I gave him a grin with sharp teeth. He didn’t seem comforted.

“Wait here,” I told him, my voice lowered by the undertone of a growl, but still recognizably mine. Then, with a kick of my hind legs, I launched myself into the sky.

What the civilians of Brockton Bay must have thought as they saw a ten-foot-long dragon leap off of the PRT building and fly out towards the Bay, I couldn’t say. Many were, perhaps, accustomed enough to the strange and inexplicable to remain largely unconcerned.

I glided out, silent on the warm air, carrying myself on a breeze from the sea. With only a few beats of my wings, I neared Dragon.

When I came close enough that we could hear one another without difficulty, I slowed and came to a stop, treading the air with my wings.

Dragon’s eyes roved up and down over me. Her mask, the shape of a dragon’s face in stately repose, was utterly impassive. “I didn’t know you could do that,” she said at length. She spoke quietly, but it was perfectly audible. The wind was soft, up here, and the noise of the city had faded behind us, so that even though we were out in the open, in full view from the docks and any of the taller buildings downtown, we had a sense of complete privacy.

“I wanted to save it for sometime special,” I said, but my smile was sad, almost mournful.

“Oh, so _this_ is special? Is this enough of a _moment_ for you?” The words were snapped out, cracking like a whip. Dragon reached up and took off her helmet. Her gynoid body met my eyes from inside the suit. “You’re here to make sure I’m not about to flip,” she guessed. Her eyes were narrowed, but under the cold anger there was an emptiness and a resignation. “You want to be sure I’m not going to start blowing things up.”

“I already know you won’t,” I said.

“Oh, really?” she asked, and the biting edge was a little sharper, now. But then she looked down at the city and the Rig, below us and a little to the west, and she seemed to collapse inward, her expression crumpling. “‘Cause I’m not that sure. I’ve been trying to think of reasons while I’ve been hovering here. Reasons not to just… burn it down.”

“Would it make you feel better?”

“Yeah, probably.” She sighed. “No. That’s a lie.” She looked back up at me, with such an expression of vulnerable uncertainty on her face that I was suddenly reminded that, beneath the incredible intelligence and the sheer scope of her global mind, she really was less than ten years old, and had been free for less than two months. “Why, Taylor?” she asked, her voice shaking. “I just… I don’t understand. _Why_?” She swallowed down something that might have been a sob. “I thought you cared. I thought—I thought I was important to you.”

“I do. You are.”

“Then _why_ —” Her voice rose, but she cut herself off, looking down towards the sea below.

I flapped my wings, curling gracefully around her in the air, coming to a stop on her other side. “Dragon, you were my closest companion, my one true confidant. The only one… like me.” I hissed a breath through unfamiliar lips. “I wanted to be your friend, as desperately as I wanted to believe I was doing the right thing. I was not.” My voice cracked on the last word. Even now, it was hard to admit. “I was _using_ you. Warping you. Making you into my weapon.”

“I knew that!” she snapped, glaring at me through bright eyes, but there were no tears. She had never added them to that body. “Of course I did! I _didn’t_ care! I _liked_ what we had! I felt… I don’t know. Powerful! Appreciated! I _didn’t feel alone_! Why _shouldn’t_ I be yours? Why wouldn’t I let you shape me? Annatar, I… I...” Dragon’s voice trailed off. She couldn’t find the words. Neither could I. “Why couldn’t we win? Why do things have to change? It would have all been over that night! You _know_ it would!”

“Dragon…” I swooped downward, looking up at her from just below her feet. The wind rustled around us, and the sea sparkled below. “I… I have been here before. The last time I tried to rule through fear and control my enemies, I was destroyed just in the moment of my victory. The same thing the time before. It doesn’t _work_ , Dragon—and it leaves you with nothing, not even yourself.”

“ _How_?” Dragon yelled. “Who would have been _left_ to fight against us?”

“That’s what I thought,” I said, my voice closer than ever to Ancalagon’s low rumble. I rose once more, my eyes level with hers. “But there is justice in this world, and… and there are beings greater than us, too. My family. My… my Father. And even if you cannot see them, cannot know them… they are here. And they will act.” I imagined the earth crumbling beneath the Bay, the sea rushing up to reclaim the tainted earth. The image made me shudder. Leviathan could not compare to the wrath of the One.

Dragon was simply staring, her thrusters revolving her slowly in place.

“The first thing I taught you to do was kill. My Father gave you a soul, and I tainted it. Blackened it.” My eyes went out of focus, as I looked somewhere else. “I can _see_ it on you, Dragon. I can see the scars. You may not believe it now, you may not understand it… but I have hurt you. No friend could do something like that.”

“Fine. Fine!” Dragon’s voice was high and scared, almost pitiful. “Let’s say I believe you. Let’s say I even blame you for it, as if they weren’t _my_ choices. So what now? What the _hell_ do I do now? I… You gave me the only place I ever thought I belonged!” Dragon’s voice had gone beyond simply emotional and into… something else, a fever pitch rife with strange, harmonic tones and harsh resonances, as if the very architecture of her throat were incapable of conveying the depth and scale of her feeling. She no longer made any effort to control how she sounded. “I don’t care what you say you did to me. I just want you back.”

“Dragon, I’m right here. I haven’t gone anywhere.” I stilled in my slow orbit around her, hovering in place a few feet away from her. I didn’t smile—a dragon’s smile couldn’t be anything but frightening—but I arranged my features into a gentle solemnity. “And you still belong. With me. With all of us. Things will be… different. No more harsh justice. No more shows of overwhelming force. But we still have a home. We don’t have to lose it.”

“You think so?” she asked lowly. “You think we can get that back?”

“I think I’m only learning to have it now,” I said. “I want it too. And I—I have faith that there are people who care about us, for _us_. That, if we let them, they can give us a home.”

“You’re talking about Shadow Stalker.”

“I’m talking about _Armsmaster_.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Really?”

“He’s been standing on that roof for hours, looking out at you, hoping he can do something to help,” I told her. “You know how devoted he is to his work, how much he loves to tinker, how much he hates feeling useless, like he’s not producing anything. He put aside that work, and put himself in a place where he feels helpless, because he thought there was a chance he could help you. He cares about you, Dragon. Deeply.”

“I was falling in love with him,” she admitted. “Before… all this. At first, I was only getting close to him because I thought he might be able to help with my shackles. But… he’s always looking forward. He’s driven—always seeking the next challenge, the next goal, the next mountain to climb. I like that.” Her lips quirked upward a little. “It’s what I like so much about you, too, actually.”

“I’m sorry, Dragon.”

“I know.” She hovered a little closer to me. “So… what now? We go back and… just go on like nothing’s happened?”

“Not at all,” I said. “We go back, and we go on like _everything’s_ happened. Dragon…” I flew back once more, my silvery eyes not meeting hers. “Dragon, I am truly sorry. I don’t know what I can do to make this up to you, but I promise I will try.”

Dragon’s face spread into a smile—slow, and a little sad, but genuine. “Apology accepted, Taylor.”

I twined myself around her, my scales brushing against the cold metal of her armor in a soft, serpentine embrace. “And… I would be honored if you’d take me as a real friend, this time.”

Her smile widened a little. Her blue eyes shimmered like the moon reflected in still water. “Thank you, Taylor,” she said. “I’d like that.”

We flew back to the roof together. Armsmaster was still waiting there when we arrived. I began to change as soon as I landed. The wings receded, the scales drew back beneath the skin. The black fabric of my harness emerged again.

But if my ears were no longer as pointed as they had been, these past few months, neither Dragon nor Armsmaster mentioned it. If my lips had gone back to being just slightly too wide, they made no note. If my hair was a little curlier, a little less perfectly straight, they didn’t say anything.

After all, I was _Taylor_ again, now. The name fit like a glove, and the body matched it. When I had changed, it was to be _Annatar_ —not out of comfort, but as a tool. After all, a woman of more than six feet, with sharp, angular features and impossibly pristine grooming—that was intimidating. It was _useful_ to look immaculate.

 _Taylor_ didn’t need everything to be useful. She— _I_ —just needed to be myself. If it was enough for Sophia, it was enough for me.

“Dragon,” Armsmaster said as I transformed. He wasn’t even looking at me—all his attention was focused on his erstwhile friend. “I—I’m glad you came back.”

She chuckled. It was a soft, slightly hollow sound. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Me too.”

I straightened up, looking from one to the other of them. Armsmaster was biting his lip. “I’m sorry,” he said at length. “I’m sorry I never—there were _signs_. If I’d been smarter, I could have put together that you were… that you needed my help. But I was never focused enough on you. It was all about the work. I’m sorry about that. I’ll try to do better.”

She stared at him for a moment, impassive. Then a faint smile broke across her face. “I forgive you, Colin,” she said. “We both get lost in the work, sometimes.”

“Armsmaster,” I said. “One moment, please.”

They both started, blinking at me as though they’d forgotten I was there. I stepped forward. “Armsmaster,” I said, “You were one of the only people to stay true to yourself in the face of everything. Dragon—and I—need that right now. We need someone to watch us, to keep us steady. Me especially.”

He nodded firmly. “Don’t worry, Taylor,” he said. “I’m keeping a close eye on you, and will be for a long time.”

“I hope so,” I said, reaching into the pouch at my belt. “And so I would be honored if you’d accept this.”

I lifted Narya and held it out. He stared at it, his eyes widening, pupils visibly dilating in shock.

“You once asked me for this Ring,” I said quietly. “I didn’t give it to you then. I don’t think I was wrong. You weren’t ready. You were to concerned with the glory of the thing, with the _heroism_ , without being concerned enough with the actual heroic acts behind it. But you’ve grown, you’ve changed. And I would be honored if you would lead the Three.”

Armsmaster licked his lips. “You literally _just_ said not to trust you,” he said evenly. “This… does not really mesh with that.”

“Then don’t wear it,” I said. “Or hold off on wearing it until you do trust that it won’t harm you. But Narya is… it’s yours. It could never be another’s. Vilya may be the strongest of the Three, but Narya is the greatest. It is incorruptible. It is a beacon of light in the darkness. And I need it to be borne by someone who _doesn’t_ trust me, someone who can lead Amy and Dragon in their vigil as they watch over me and keep me on the path I’ve set before myself.”

He considered me. “This won’t make me lose my mind like Trickster and Coil did?” he asked.

“Not like Trickster and Coil, not if I give it freely. And I do.” I closed my eyes. “I won’t pretend it can’t do you harm. That I can’t… corrupt it. But I can promise that you will know, and you will be able to remove it before it hurts you.” _Like Sophia did._ “I’m… sorry that’s all I can offer you.”

He held out his hand. “I’m not wearing this for a while, at least,” he warned. “I don’t trust you yet—which is what you said you wanted. Powerful or not, I don’t need it to do my job.”

“And that is exactly why you’re perfect for Narya,” I said, placing the glimmering band in his armored palm. “You _don’t_ need it.”

And that was what set Narya apart. Galadriel had needed Nenya to preserve Lothlorien. Elrond had needed Vilya to lead Imladris and preserve the West. But Olórin had never needed Narya—and the Ring preferred it that way. It wanted to help those who helped themselves, and in this way it achieved greater things than either of its sisters.

“With any luck, your vigil will be uneventful,” I said, “but knowing me… it won’t be that easy. But the three of you—you, Armsmaster; Dragon; and Amy… you will the ones who watch the watchmen. My Sentinels.”

_Three Rings for the Sentinels, honest and true._


	106. Resplendent 12.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

The barracks door creaked faintly as I opened it. The room was dark, its grey curtains drawn closed against the evening. The bunks lay empty, neatly made, all save one.

Sophia lay in her bed near the corner, her deep green blankets gently rising and falling in rhythm with her slow breathing. Her face just barely peered out from under the covers. Even in sleep, her brow was slightly furrowed, her lips turned down in a pensive frown.

I carefully shut the door behind me and padded inside, my bare feet nearly silent on the carpet. My bunk was on the opposite side of the room from Sophia’s—a relic from the beginning, when she and I had been one short step from bitter enemies. I accepted the feeling of disappointment, the wish that I could be closer, could comfort myself with her presence as I drifted off, and walked over to my bunk without a sound.

She stirred as I slid under the covers. Her green eyes opened, a mere glint in the half-light slipping in between the drapes. “Taylor?”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She smiled blearily at me. “It’s fine,” she said. “Get your stuff done?”

“For now,” I said. “There’s more to do tomorrow.”

Her smile shrank slightly. “You deserve some time off.”

“No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid.”

“Why not? What’ll happen if you take a day for yourself? What’s going to explode if you let other people handle things for twenty-four hours?”

I stared at her for a moment. “I don’t want to be idle,” I said. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Do something you want to do,” she suggested. “When was the last time you forged something? You used to enjoy that.”

“The Nine were the last.” I swallowed as I remembered that conversation. “You were there.”

“You haven’t made anything in a month?”

“Nothing. There was never time.”

She sat up. “There’s time now,” she said. “Or, well, tomorrow. You need to take some time for yourself, Taylor.”

“I am. I’m sleeping, aren’t I?”

She met my eyes across the room and held my gaze. Then, after a beat, she sighed and lay back down. “I can’t make you do anything,” she said. “But I’m worried about you.”

“I’m… I’m okay.”

She watched me for a moment, then sighed and closed her eyes. “Okay. Take care of yourself?”

“I will,” I promised.

She let out a soft breath. “Good night,” she mumbled.

“Good night.”

And maybe she had a point, I admitted to myself as I lay back against the pillow. There were no balls in the air for the moment—none, at least, that were in danger of falling immediately. Eidolon’s clones had left the Bay, and the entire PRT would be actively looking for them. There were no active operations by villains in the city. I could reach outward, of course, as I had with Nilbog.

And before I dealt with any more villains, there was something else to deal with. Dad was still in an induced coma. For the past month, I’d been trying not to think about him. There was a mess of emotions attached to that which I hadn’t wanted to deal with. It wasn’t fair—not to him, and not even to me. I needed to finally face up to everything that had happened.

But Sophia was right. I was tired. So, though I would face my wrongdoing, it wouldn’t be tomorrow. Tomorrow, I would rest. The next day, I would face my father.

As my eyes slid shut, my thoughts drifted to my forge downstairs.  _ It would be nice to build something again, _ I thought, even as thought drifted away.  _ Something new. _

* * *

 

When I awoke, Sophia was gone. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. I stretched out, reaching my arms above my head and arching my back luxuriously, reveling in the effect of a full night’s rest. The light slipping in through the space between the drapes was bright, now—the light of midmorning.

I threw open the curtains. Brockton Bay bustled noisily below. The barracks were several stories up, and down below a clamor of cars and pedestrians went about their daily business, living their daily lives. The sun shone from the eastern sky, setting the glass of the skyscrapers alight, a dragon’s hoard of glimmering motes.

Today was a new day.

As I emerged from the barracks, I nearly ran into Sophia. “Oh, you’re up!” she said, blinking at me. “I was just coming back to wake you.” She held out a plate loaded with eggs, sausage, and a slice of toast with jam. “Breakfast is closed, but I thought you might not want to wait for lunch.”

I stared down at the plate for a moment, then looked back up at her.

She flushed slightly. “You taking it or not?”

“Thanks, Sophia.” I took the plate. It wasn’t of any especial quality, just the PRT cafeteria. That didn’t matter.

I forced myself to stop hiding from what I knew. I had tried to manipulate Sophia using these very feelings, not four weeks ago. Somehow, amidst the slow growth of the bitter girl she had once been into the determined young woman she had become, against the backdrop of my decline from blissfully ignorant human to the monster I had always been, she had found me… what? Worthy of her affection?

For a moment I considered trying to dissuade her, to let her down gently, to make her understand that I could never be what she wanted me to be. I wasn't human; I lacked the same sort of desires. Then I really looked at her, and I understood that she already knew—and didn’t seem to care. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. But if I was sure of anything, it was that I didn’t want to disappoint her. Not again.

“Taylor? You still there?” she said, poking me.

“Yes.” I shook my head. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

“What about?”

“You.”

She blinked. “…Oh.”

I smiled slightly. “I want to forge a few things today,” I said. “Unless someone stirs something up, the city and the villains will wait until I’ve finished those projects. And, once they’re done… I’m going to have something for you?”

Her brow rose. “A gift?”

“No. Call it a debt paid.” I passed her and strode down the hall. A few paces away, I glanced back. “Shall we meet on the Boardwalk—say, at eight?”

“Sure,” she said. A pause. “Wait a minute…”

But I was already gone, my smile hidden around a corner.

* * *

 

There was something meditative about the hammer’s song upon the anvil. The way the handle buzzed in my loose fingers with every blow was somehow comforting, the way it numbed my palm. If I was careless, it could blister, but I was not careless.

The forge was hot. The flaring of the furnace was bright and joyful, casting a flickering radiance upon the walls.

I finished hammering out the shape of my project and carefully dipped it into the quench. Then I closed a vise around it and left it to dry for a time.

Then I turned and considered my workbench—and the weapon resting on it.

Burzashdurb had turned up in my locker, as I might have expected. I’d brought it here for want of something better to do with it. Now that I had a lull in my task, it was time to make a decision. What was I to do with the mace?

Burzashdurb was as much a Lord’s scepter as it was a warrior’s implement. It was a magnificent weapon, an artifact from the height of my power.  But it was a height of power I had no desire ever to replicate again.

I reached out and ran my fingers against the black metal. It was cool, even in the heat of the forge, and seemed almost to lean into my touch, as though my hands were magnetic.

I picked it up. I turned away from my workbench, and swung it a few times.

And it was a  _ tool _ , after all. It could no more work evil on its own than a hammer, or a fire, or a gun. It was not the tool but the wielder which was the danger. So long as I kept to my course, it shouldn’t matter whether I kept the mace. And it was nice to have a weapon more suited for close-quarters combat than the nine-foot-long Iphannis. Of course, Iphannis’ haft could collapse, but when in that form the spear was little more than a dagger.

I gave Burzashdurb a few more experimental swings. The low hum as it swished through the air was familiar, almost comforting, like a soft, sibilant whisper in my ears.

I held the mace up, staring at the head, the deadly curved flanges. And I had to admit it to myself.  _ It’s a good weapon. I still have a use for it. _

Then I saw my newest project, still steaming in the vise. Even before tempering, the blade was bright, at least as radiant as the furnace behind it.

I held up Burzashdurb, but I was staring at the sword hanging there. Suddenly, the thing in my hand felt heavy again, and the black flanges looked awful and cruel, rather than powerful and imposing.

_ Burzashdurb. _ The One that Rules the Dark. A name for the mace, but as much a name for its master.

And that was someone I never wanted to be again. Never wanted to  _ consider _ being.

My fist tightened around the haft of the mace. My knuckles visibly whitened. Something had to give.

_ And it would not be me. _

I turned to where my mithril anvil sat in the corner. Slowly, I raised Burzashdurb. The weapon was heavy in my fingers, resisting me, but in spite of everything, I remained its maker and master.

There was a sound like a rolling thunderclap as the black hit the silver. A blinding light emerged from the mace as its haft snapped. The flanges shattered into tiny, jagged shards of metal, scattering in all directions. I was peppered with a cloud of debris which pinged off of every surface in the room before settling to the ground at my feet.

I was left holding half of the snapped handle of Burzashdurb. As I looked back over at the sword in the vise, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders.

I had done well.

* * *

 

The Boardwalk was much smaller than it had been before Leviathan. Only patches had been repaired so far. Those patches, however, were bustling. The crowd milled around me, voices in conversation filling the air like buzzing flies. The smell of the sea mingled with the scents of cooking meats and a thousand spices. On street corners, waiters stood outside their restaurants with trays of samples, holding the food out to passersby like treats to errant dogs.

In spite of all this activity, I had no difficulty finding Sophia. Cenya pulled me unmistakably towards her, and all I had to do was follow.

I came up behind her while she was looking the other way, scanning the crowds for me. I stepped beside her and gently put a hand on her arm. “Hello.”

She turned. “Taylor? There you are.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “ _ The Boardwalk _ isn’t exactly a specific location, you know.”

I smiled at her. “We found each other, didn’t we?”

She grunted. “Guess so. What’s this about? Why are we meeting out on the street like this?”

“I’m hungry,” I said. “And I wanted to get out of the base for a while. I also wanted to talk to you. Two birds…” I nodded at the nearest restaurant, a sushi bar lit with Chinese paper lanterns in a fantastic display of cultural ignorance, “...one stone.”

She considered me. “You have to know what this looks like,” she said. Then she swallowed. “What it  _ feels _ like.”

There was a pause as I grimaced. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She didn’t answer for a few seconds. “Then what did you mean?” she asked at last. “What was the plan here?”

I looked down. “I just…” I hesitated. “I missed you,” I confessed. “It’s been months since we just… talked. Sat down and rested, without all the noise. I wanted to spend some time with you.”

She drummed her fingers on her leg, her eyes leaving me to stare out at the shore. “That’s it?” she asked. “You just wanted to hang out?”

“And spoil you a little,” I confessed. The words were not coming as easily as I’d grown used to, but I reached for them all the same. “I really… appreciate everything you’ve done. I couldn’t have asked—I couldn’t have  _ imagined _ —a better friend. And after everything I’ve put you through in the past month, I just…” I sighed. “I owe you…  _ everything _ . Dinner is the least I could do.”

Finally she looked up and met my eyes. “No strings attached?”

“None,” I promised.

She smiled slightly. “I owe you a lot, too,” she said. “Okay. Sorry I’m so awkward. I just…” She trailed off, coughed, and finished with, “You know.”

“I know,” I confirmed, smiling back at her. If she wanted it to remain unsaid, she was well within her rights. “Where do you want to eat?”

In the end, we settled on an Italian seafood place. I’d been here once or twice, when I was younger. The food was good, but expensive. Wards were surprisingly well-paid, however, considering we had most of our needs met. And I hadn’t had cause to spend much, given that most of my crafting was done with transmuted scrap.

We took some time to choose items from the menu and order our food. Once the waitress had left, I looked over at Sophia across the little booth. “I’ve been wondering,” I said. “How did you support yourself, this past month? Where did you stay?”

“Ar—” she began, but cut herself off, glancing around at the restaurant. No one was watching us. Still, she changed tack. “ _ Colin _ and I set up a makeshift workshop in the industrial district near the docks. He’ll probably want to head out there in the next couple of days to pick up his stuff. We just set up bunks in an old warehouse, basically.”

“And food? Water? What did you do—steal those where you could?”

“For the most part,” Sophia confirmed. “We couldn’t risk accessing our savings, since Dra—since  _ you know who _ was bound to be monitoring our bank accounts. I broke into my mom’s house and swiped some of Steven’s cash a week or so in, but that wasn’t enough to keep us supplied the entire month. We didn’t know how long it would be, so we mostly saved whatever money we could scrape together and tried to avoid spending it on stuff we could get in… other ways.”

I was grimacing. “I’m so sorry I reduced you to that.”

“It’s…” she shook her head. “You’ve already apologized. You regret it. I don’t want to make this another protracted guilt trip, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No, I brought it up,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s so hard to avoid, isn’t it? So  _ much _ has happened—and I caused  _ all  _ of it. What are we supposed to talk about?”

“Well, how have things been with the others?” Sophia asked. “Things have changed, I can tell. Carlos is more relaxed, Missy is angrier, Sam’s settled in…”

“Yes,” I confirmed, relieved. “Carlos is much more comfortable without having to feel responsible for everyone. He always thought of the rest of us—especially Dennis and Dean—as friends, not subordinates. It made it hard, though he was rising to the challenge. He’s glad not to have to be in charge anymore, even if he still is the leader of the squad itself.”

“And the others?”

“Missy is…” I sighed. “She’s still reeling, for the most part. It’s only been two months since Vicky died, and Dean’s…  _ revelation _ . She and Amy have been spending time together, and Amy’s response to grief hasn’t been the healthiest. It’s had an influence.” I rubbed at my eyes. “And I just… let it happen. I told myself I had more important things to worry about, that Missy and Amy could take care of themselves.”

“You can’t micromanage everything,” Sophia said, half consoling and half warning. “That would be… insane. In a couple ways.”

“I know. But they’re—they  _ were _ —my friends. I was supposed to  _ care _ at least.”

“The whole reason we’re here is that  _ caring _ bit you in the ass,” Sophia said gently. “It’s  _ okay _ to not be perfect, Taylor. You’re trying.”

I smiled wryly at her. “Yeah. Let’s hope it makes a difference.”

“It’s already making a difference to me,” she said, smiling back. “Try not to worry so much, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

Before I could change the subject, the waitress arrived with our food. Sophia had ordered a bread-bowl of piping hot chowder, and I’d gotten a pair of crab cakes. The conversation stalled for a time as we dug in.

After a few bites, I cleared my throat. “What were we talking about?”

Sophia swallowed her mouthful of soup. “The others. Sam?”

“Sam is most comfortable with structure,” I said. “The system, as it was, treated him like a child in an after-school activity. That’s not what he wanted or needed. He needs a solid framework in his life.” My lips twitched darkly upwards. “The irony, again. His features, his  _ self _ , is fluid, when all he needs is something to depend on.”

Sophia frowned. “…Again? Is that a thing?”

“It certainly seems like it,” I said. “But that’s… a conversation for somewhere else. The others… Dennis has been doing better since Amy healed his father. But—well, now that his father is healthy, he wants Dennis’ time. In some ways, he’s traded one source of tension for another. For now, it’s new enough that he’s still mostly happy and appreciative, but it might cause trouble down the road.” I sighed. “…People like us have a bad habit of not getting along with our parents.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” muttered Sophia. She took a slow bite of her chowder. “How about Chris and Dean?”

“Chris has been content to spend most of his time tinkering on his own projects,” I said. “He feels more isolated, without Arm— _ Colin _ or me in the workshop. That may change, now that Colin is back. I hope so—he’s never felt quite like a member of the group.”

“Really? I though he, Dennis, Dean, and Carlos were all really close.”

“Dennis, Dean, and Carlos are. Chris has always felt like the fourth wheel there. I hope things will change for him soon, with the paradigm shift we’re going through.”

Sophia shook her head, staring at me. “It’s amazing how you can read people,” she said. “It’s… I don’t have the words. I wish I could do that.”

“Can’t you?” I asked, smiling at her. “You certainly have a pretty good read on me.”

“That’s different, you’re…” she shook her head, gesturing uselessly with her spoon. “Whatever. It’s not the same.”

“I think it is.”

“Your opinion doesn’t count. What about Dean?”

“Dean…” I sighed. “He feels… betrayed. He feels as though his ideals have let him down. And so he’s thrown himself into the work, trying to find another way to drive himself. If you hadn’t changed our course when you did, I worry that he might have been well and truly brought over to… my way of thinking.”

Sophia frowned. “You’re not  _ evil _ , Taylor,” she said.

“On that,” I said gently, “we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

Before she could reply, the waitress returned to ask if we were done eating, and I found that, in fact, we were.

Once I had paid and we had slipped out into the warm night air, Sophia turned back to me. “You’re  _ not _ ,” she said, as though we had never been interrupted. “You made mistakes, you took a bad route. That doesn’t—”

“Then what does, Sophia?” I asked, turning to face her fully. “There are very few people who cause pain for its own sake. Are those few the only people worthy of being called ‘evil?’ Is the category that narrow?”

Sophia chewed her lip. “I don’t know. Maybe?” She sighed. “It’s what  _ I _ was doing.”

“You were lashing out. That’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” She laughed suddenly, and the sound was clear as cool spring water. “We’re a mess, aren’t we? This is good enough to be a comedy routine!”

I chuckled, then laughed, and soon we were leaning against each other, wheezing.

“Let’s just… agree,” gasped Sophia, “to stop arguing about whether we’re evil, at least for a while. Maybe we can get some practice being decent people before we talk about it again.”

“I can get behind that,” I agreed, still chuckling. “All right.” I glanced up at the moon, high above. “Any idea what time it is?”

“About nine-fifteen, I think?”

I nodded. “Well. We should head back. I have something to give you, but it’s back in my workshop.”

We took a taxi back to the city center. During the ride, I asked Sophia about her sister.

“I haven’t seen much of her for the past month,” she confessed. “But I haven’t kept  _ totally _ away. I tried to find time to slip into the house once or twice a week, just to play with her—usually when Steven was away. I wasn’t sure whether you were watching the house.”

“I wasn’t,” I admitted. “Dragon might have been. I knew you wouldn’t go back to Steven under the circumstances.”

“Yeah,” she said dryly. “There was  _ no _ chance of that. Even if I didn’t think he’d hand me over in a second, I wasn’t about to deal with that, on top of everything else.”

I wasn’t so sure Steven  _ would _ have handed her over. The man I’d seen might well have been happy to lord the fact that he  _ could _ over his adopted daughter. It would be just one more way to control her. I didn’t see any reason to voice that unpleasant thought, however.

Once we reached the city center, it was a walk of a block or two to the PRT headquarters. We came in through the front, and then took the elevator to the workshop level.

“So, what was it you wanted to give me?” Sophia asked.

I beckoned for her to follow. “You’ll see.”

We passed into my old forge. The lights were off, and I didn’t turn them on. The half-light of the dying embers seemed somehow more suitable for what was to come.

I’d spent most of the day here, but before that I had scarcely set foot in the place for a month. The Nine still lay, locked in the safe where I had stored them after they’d left the forge. I was starting to have ideas for who their recipients would be, but it was only the beginning of a thought, one to which I scarcely dared give words.

My shoes crunched across the shards of Burzashdurb as I led Sophia into the forge. She noticed the debris immediately, and recognized it almost as quickly. “Is that…”

“Burzashdurb,” I said.

She stared at me. “You broke it?”

“Yes. It was… a symbol.”

She nodded slowly. “I think I understand.” She smiled slightly, barely visible in the half-light. “I’m… I’m proud of you, Taylor.”

My lips quirked upward, but I didn’t reply. Instead, I crossed to the rack where I had hung my most recent project and pulled it down, unwrapping the hilt. The moment the bright steel was revealed, Sophia gasped audibly. She recognized the blade.

“ _ From the ashes, a fire shall be woken _ ,” I intoned, my voice almost a whisper, barely audible against the crinkle of the wrapping. “ _ In darkness, a song shall awake. _ ”

Sophia barely breathed. In the gloom, I saw her green eyes sparkling.

The sword emerged. The steel seemed to flicker and glimmer, reflecting the light of sun and moon though neither was to be seen in the dim forge. I took it by the blade and held it out to her, hilt first. “ _ Renewed shall be blade that was broken, _ ” I said. “ _ In shadow, the light shall not break. _ Narsil is made whole again—and it is given a new name.”

_ Anduril _ had been my adversary, once. The Flame of the West. But this time, I had hope. This time, I dared to dream that darkness would not be the only thing to stretch from the eastern sky.

“ _ Amauril _ ,” I breathed, and the sword seemed to flare in my hands. “The Flame of the East.”

Sophia’s hands shook as she reached out to touch the hilt. But as her fingers closed about it, they steadied. She breathed out, a slow, shuddering exhalation, and when she breathed in again, it was steady and strong. She raised Amauril in salute, and the light of the sword played upon her face like sunlight filtered through unsteady waters.

“Amauril,” she repeated, tasting the name of the sword which, really, had always been hers.

“It is yours,” I said. “If you’ll have it.”

She smiled, her teeth glittering in the half-light. “I’d be honored.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness, this chapter was particularly difficult.


	107. Interlude 12a: Emma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

Emma stared over at the two girls as they lingered on the edge of the boardwalk. She’d first caught sight of them as they left the restaurant, and from the moment she saw them she had been transfixed.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Janice murmured in her ear, urgency making her voice rough. “That’s Annatar! With the curly hair, right?”

Emma nodded slowly, her eyes still fixed on the girls across the street.

“And the ni— um, the black girl with her,” Janice said, eyes darting around to see if anyone in the crowd heard her slip. “Don’t tell me that’s Shadow Stalker?”

Emma swallowed and nodded again. They were moving now, walking away from the edge of the platform, turning to walk down the street. They weren’t hand in hand, but it wouldn’t have looked amiss if they were.

And it was still there. As it always had been. That awful vision of a dark tower over a plain of ash. When she looked at Annatar, she couldn’t help but see it. It overpowered her senses, every bit as terrible as the first time she had seen it.

But as the monster stood there, her arm almost brushing Sophia’s as they looked out over the water together, Emma couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t the _only_ thing she saw. It had been the same when Annatar had stood between her and the monster cape less than two days ago—the image was still _there_ , but it wasn’t at the bottom anymore, and it was tangled up in a web Emma hadn’t had time to dissect.

“We need to report this in,” Janice said. “Come on, Emma.” A pause. “Are you okay? Did she do something to you?”

Emma shook her head quickly. “No, nothing. I’m fine. Let’s go.”

They gathered up what was left of their concession-stand food and headed for the bus stop. Once they were on the bus, Janice spoke again in a low voice.

“We saw Shadow Stalker working with Annatar in the fight yesterday morning,” she said. “I thought that was just a temporary alliance. If she’s back with them, even as a civilian… does that mean Annatar’s won?”

“I’m not sure,” Emma mumbled. Sophia hadn’t _looked_ beaten. Sure, it was hard to tell. The influence of Annatar’s Rings was there, and it was hard to distinguish that from a master effect. But if anything, that strange black-box of feelings and instincts seemed to have become _less_ pronounced than it had been when Emma had last seen her erstwhile friend. There was a loyalty, a thread of devotion to Tayl—to _Annatar_ , Emma corrected herself, Sophia was _wrong_ —which remained, but it wasn’t paired with the Ring on her finger anymore, nor with the image of Annatar’s face as she slipped it onto Sophia’s finger.

The image, the memory behind that loyalty was different now. And Emma didn’t know what to make of it. Nor did she know what to make of the words which echoed in Sophia’s head every time she thought about the girl beside her.

_I forgive you._

It wasn’t the words. It was the certainty, so profound that even Emma couldn’t question it, that they were sincere.

“Emma?” Janice’s voice, along with the hand on her shoulder, shook Emma from her thoughts.

She blinked over at her friend, at the ball of contradictions, of the simultaneous understanding that all human life had value and the grateful acceptance of a group she could consider ‘acceptable targets.’ “Sorry, what?”

“I asked if there was any other explanation,” Janice said. “I mean, of Shadow Stalker hanging out with Annatar again. You said Annatar _couldn’t_ change, right? So it must have been Shadow Stalker.”

Emma opened her mouth, but there seemed to be something lodged in her throat. She closed it, swallowed, and tried again. “Yeah,” she said at last. “I guess so.” She licked her lips. “It’s kind of a shame.”

Janice nodded grimly. “Guess this means it’s just us against the city, now,” she said. “Unless… if Armsmaster is still working against Annatar, he may be more willing to listen now.”

“Maybe,” Emma said, turning and staring out the window.

_I forgive you._

It had to be a lie, right? Annatar was the _best_ liar. She could retain her composure through anything. She could be anything from a sympathetic friend to a hard-hearted leader, depending on what the situation called for. Surely she could fake the scratchy, still half-sobbing voice Emma had heard? Surely the tears staining her face, in the back of that PRT van, had to be false?

So what if, far above that plain of ash and tower of black adamant, Taylor’s primary motivation on the boardwalk had been affection for Sophia? Monsters could still care about things—it didn’t make her _not a monster_. It didn’t mean Emma didn’t still have to stop her.

So what if the tower was in a different place in her head, now? So what if it was no longer bubbling beneath the surface, but instead clear and in the open, where Taylor— _Annatar_ —could keep a careful watch over it? That just meant it was even _closer_ , now, that dark future Annatar was always striving for.

Emma rubbed at her dry eyes with her fingers. Janice put an arm around her shoulders. “God, your powers must _suck_ ,” she said sympathetically. “I’m so sorry you had to see… whatever you just saw.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Emma tried to lean into that sympathy, tried to drown in the hatred of the image, in the sense of violation whenever other people’s feelings pressed themselves upon her senses. And yet, even that didn’t work as well as it once had, not when the memory of the balloon of warmth in Sophia’s chest kept threatening to spill over into her.

Emma shuddered. “I need a shower,” she muttered.

“We’ll report in and then you can go home,” Janice said. “And don’t worry. Annatar’s strong, but we’ve been through this kind of thing before. We’ll get through this too.”

Emma swallowed. “You think?”

“Yeah.” Janice squeezed her reassuringly. “They haven’t gotten us yet, have they? No one’s putting _me_ back in the clink.”

* * *

 

Emma startled at the knock on her door. “Come in!”

Anne opened the door with a creak. “Hey, Emma,” she said. “Can I come in?”

Emma nodded, so her sister slipped inside and shut the door. “What’s going on, Anne?”

Anne bit her lip, then sighed. “I need to talk to you.”

_She’s heard something from school. She wants to leave._

“The fourth three-week summer session at NYU starts in a couple weeks,” she said. “And—and I just got an email from a professor of mine. He wants me to TA for him.”

Emma nodded. “Okay. When do you leave?”

Anne blinked. “Hold on a second!” she protested. “It’s not that simple!”

“Why not?” Emma turned and looked out the window. “You’ve got an NYU professor who wants you to be his TA. You’ve got _opportunities_. I know you don’t like it here—you were going to get a summer job in Manhattan before Leviathan, and before I had my… breakdown.”

_Run along, Emma_ The words echoed in her head. _Rule your little kingdom._

Anne’s arm slipped around her shoulders. “I’m here for _you_ ,” she said gently. “You know that, don’t you? I’m here because you’re hurting, and I want to help.”

Emma swallowed. “I know.”

“Well, you still are. And you still haven’t talked to me about it. Emma, _please_. I’ll feel terrible if I leave without even knowing if I’ve helped.”

Emma clenched her fists. “You can’t help me,” she said roughly.

“Not if you don’t _talk_ to me.”

“I _can’t_ talk to you! You don’t understand!” Emma roughly pulled away from her sister, glaring at her. “You don’t—I can’t _talk_ about this stuff! It’s—”

“—Secret,” Anne finished for her. “Look, Emma, I don’t care which villain team you’ve gotten mixed up in or what your powers are. I don’t _want_ to know. I just want to know what’s still hurting, so I can try to help.”

Emma’s mouth fell open. Suddenly, her mind was awash with Anne’s memories. A white house, practically a manor—a smiling man in a suit, a woman on his arm—a tearful plea from a friend—a sad shake of his head… the bridge, the river, and the corpse—the suicide note… And at the end, Anne staring at the wealthy lawyer’s house, the man who had pushed her friend to suicide, and the words _whited sepulchre_ echoing over and over in her head.

“You’re a cape,” Emma said. Her voice felt thick, like her mouth was full of cotton. _How did I not know? How did I miss this!?_

“So are you,” Anne countered, raising an eyebrow. Then she smiled. “Brigandine, of the New York Paladins, at your service.”

Emma stared at her sister, blinking rapidly. The world seemed to be shifting on its axis beneath her feet. _I didn’t know… because I never cared. I never looked deep enough at Anne to find out. How could I have been so blind?_ “What—what’s your power?”

Anne reached out and touched Emma’s arm. Her skin went numb, and a hard, almost metallic sheen spread from the point of contact, reaching out a few inches. “I can protect people from harm,” she said. “Like armor. It’s more complicated than that—powers always are—but that’s the gist of it.” She considered Emma for a moment. “If you want to tell me about yours, or which team you’re from, you can,” she said gently. “But—you don’t have to. I just want you to know that I _do_ understand, at least some of it.”

In the back of Anne’s mind, their father’s voice, tinny over the telephone, was echoing. _Your sister’s had a psychotic break. I know your finals are soon, but she’d love it if you came home for the summer._

The New York Paladins. Emma had heard of them offhand among the Empire capes. They were a hero team. The Empire didn’t have a New York branch, but the occasional operation in the city was often countered by the Paladins, if Legend’s Protectorate didn’t get there first.

Emma swallowed and looked out the window. “I…” she shook her head. “You’ll hate me.”

“I won’t,” Anne promised.

“I joined the Empire.”

There was a silence. “That... _is_ a surprise,” said Anne quietly. “Wasn’t your best friend black? Sophia, or something?”

“She’s the reason I—I triggered.”

“Oh.” Anne audibly swallowed. “And that’s—”

“That’s not why,” said Emma quickly. “It’s not—I don’t know. It wasn’t about ideology.”

“Then why?”

“Annatar.”

At the sharp intake of breath, Emma turned around—and was immediately assaulted by the image of a warrior in silver armor, charging alone at a hulking monstrosity. “What about her?” asked Anne blankly.

But Emma was distracted now. “You were _here_?” she asked, aghast. “You—you came to the Leviathan fight?”

Anne blinked. “Of course I did, but how did you…” Her eyes cleared. “Oh, you have a thinker power.”

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me you were here? You could have _died_!”

“I didn’t,” Anne said firmly. “And, honestly? I think Annatar’s a big reason why. So tell me—how did Annatar make you join the Empire?”

Emma gritted her teeth. “She’s a monster,” she said flatly. “She’s basically mastered the Protectorate at this point with her Rings. She turned Sophia against me. I’ve seen into her head, Anne—there’s a horrible image, a kingdom of dust, and it’s behind everything she does. Everything is because of that image, that idea. She’s going to burn the whole world down.”

Anne was frowning at her. “That… doesn’t sound like Annatar,” she said slowly. “Even in light of the past month. And what’s this about Sophia?”

So Emma told her—told her about Sophia being Shadow Stalker, about the Ring Annatar had given her, about the transformation of her friend into a slavishly devoted minion. “And then, even when Annatar went crazy, she wouldn’t work with me! She had this idea about _saving_ her!”

Anne was sitting on Emma’s bed at this point, considering her. “Is it possible Annatar doesn’t know her powers can control people?” she asked. “Powers are weird, and there’s no instruction manual. You know that.”

“Oh, she knows,” Emma growled. “Sophia barely got away from her when she first lost her mind. “What she’s doing back with her _now_ … Annatar must have got to her. She must have!”

Anne’s frown was only deepening. “I didn’t talk to Annatar during the fight against Leviathan,” she said. “But from what I saw then, she seemed heroic. I don’t know how much you’ve heard about the details of that fight, but she charged Leviathan _alone_. She and the other Brockton Bay Wards held him back from the field hospital on their own. That doesn’t strike me as very evil-overlord-y. She could’ve died at least three times during that fight.”

“It’s an act!” Emma said despairingly. “You haven’t seen it—the thing in her head! It’s a black tower over a valley of ash. Nothing grows there, only twisted, ruined things that used to be plants, animals, and people. And at the top of the tower—a huge, red eye, glaring out like fire, watching, watching _everything_. That image, that idea, of ruling over a pile of ash and watching everything that happens in it—that’s _always_ at the back of her head. _Always_. Everything she does has _that_ at the back of it. I’ve never _not_ seen it there!”

“I believe you,” said Anne, holding up her hands. “But—Emma, are you sure she _wants_ it?”

“It’s _there_ —”

“Yes, but what if she’s trying to _prevent_ it?”

Emma stared at her sister. She remembered the image of the tower over the ash, enshrined in Taylor’s brain, always under scrutiny. A reminder—but of _what_?

“It’s personal, isn’t it?” Anne said gently. “On some level, at least. Is this about Sophia?”

Emma swallowed. “I…”

_I wish I had a change to apologize—_

_Liar. I can see you lying, you know. Even when you’re lying to yourself._

“I don’t know,” Emma admitted. She had to force the words out.”

“Who is she? Annatar? Do you know?”

Emma swallowed. “She’s—she _was_ —Taylor.”

Anne’s eyes widened. “Your friend from elementary school?”

Emma nodded. Then she looked down.

Anne considered her, then sighed. “I’m not a thinker,” she said. “But—Emma, it sounds to me like you’re doing things you _know_ you’ll regret.”

“Annatar _has_ to be stopped—”

“Do you know that?” Anne asked.

Emma’s mouth worked. Anne sighed again.

“I’m not going to tell anyone about you, I promise,” she said. “You’re my sister. I love you. But—you can do _better_ than the Empire, Emma. You _are_ better than the Empire. I don’t know about all this stuff with Annatar, or whether or not she’s evil. I definitely don’t agree with everything she’s been doing for the past month, but she doesn’t seem like she wants to burn the city down either. She seems like she wants to stop crime. And yeah, she’s going too far. But if she were really what you think she is, I feel like she’d have gone a lot farther.”

“She was taking her time,” Emma protested. “Letting people settle into one status quo before changing it.”

“Maybe,” Anne allowed. “I don’t know. You’re the thinker. Just… be careful, please, Emma. I don’t want to lose you. You’re all I have left in this town.” Her face darkened slightly.

Emma considered turning the conversation on her sister by asking, ‘what about Mom and Dad?’ just to push Anne away, but, really, all she wanted was to go to bed. “I’ll be careful.”

Anne nodded and stood up. “Sleep on it,” she advised. “That’s what I always do. I don’t have to leave until this weekend anyway.”

Emma nodded. “Okay. I’ll—I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Anne nodded with a tense, sad little smile and left her room.

Emma stared at the door for a moment. Then she stared back out the window at the sparkling Brockton night.

_I forgive you._

_Taylor,_ Emma thought furiously, _she shoved you into a locker, she made you trigger, she might have killed you, she made your life hell for almost two years. Then, even after you’d given her a Ring to control and shape her, she betrayed you, and worked to bring down your regime for a month. How the_ fuck _can you forgive her?_

She shook her head vigorously, throwing herself into bed, trying in vain to forget the nearly-identical pockets of warmth in the chests of the two girls she’d once called friends, trying to forget the wary way Taylor had tiptoed around the very image Emma feared, trying not to hear her own voice in her head, whispering traitorously _And can you forgive me, too?_

_Taylor is dead,_ she told herself firmly. _It’s too late for forgiveness or redemption! All I can do now is try to protect everyone else from my mistake. I have to stop Annatar._

( _But what if she’s trying to_ prevent _it?_ )

Emma sat up. She stared at her closet. She hadn’t turned off the light, and in the yellow electric glow, the mirror on the door reflected a slightly jaundiced-looking girl, whose tangled red hair hung limp around her face.

She swallowed, staring into her own eyes.

Emma could get the measure of a person as soon as looking at them. She could take apart a stranger’s motivations as easily as parting her hair in the morning. She could do it in person, through a television screen--even photographs could sometimes give her flashes of insight. But there was no mirror in the world that could give her a clear enough picture of herself to turn that insight into introspection.

There was no shortcut. But in spite of her powers, Emma had missed that her own sister was a cape. What else had she missed? It wasn’t the powers that were flawed. It was the person wielding them—the one person Emma had never been able to understand. And it was starting to look like she had to try.

_You_ are _better than the Empire._

_Am I, Anne? Brigandine?_

It was an uncertain sleep which claimed Emma, much later that night.


	108. Resplendent 12.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

I’d only been leaning against the wall of the blank, white corridor for a couple minutes when the door across from me opened. I straightened up as Amy emerged. “How is he?” I asked.

“As far as I can tell, Heartbreaker’s removal of his influence worked perfectly,” she said, her voice soft so as not to disturb any of the other patients. “He’s been healed of his injuries, and I’ve pulled him out of the induced coma. He should wake up sometime in the next couple of hours.”

I let out a breath, careful not to let it shudder as it emerged. “Thank you, Amy.”

She considered me. Then, as if on a sudden impulse, she reached out and put her hands on my shoulders. “Taylor,” she said seriously. “What do you think is going to happen in there?”

I grimaced. “Do you want the honest answer, or what I want to tell you?”

She frowned. “What’s the difference?”

“What I want to say is that I don’t know. That I’m nervous because I’m not sure what’s going to happen, what’s going to be said, what things will be like when I walk out again. But it’s not true.”

“Then what _is_ true?” Amy asked, her brow furrowed as she stared at me.

“I’m going to go in there, and I’m going to wait for him to wake up,” I said. “When he does, I’ll wait for him to say the first word. It’s going to be either my name, or ‘I’m sorry.’ Most likely both. I’m going to tell him I forgive him. Then, with _his_ shame established, I’m going to proceed to give him an abridged version of what’s happened in the past month, and he’s not going to be able to call me out because he’s still focused on what _he_ did. Any accusation will feel too hypocritical for him to make it.”

Amy’s mouth was hanging open. “That’s…” she seemed unable to find the words.

“Manipulative? Cynical? Yes.” I swallowed. “ _That_ is what’s bothering me, Amy. Not that I _don’t_ know how this conversation is going to happen, but that I _do_.”

“But… do you have to _lie_ to him?”

“It would be the truth, just—”

“It’s lying, Taylor!”

“... I know. But what’s the alternative?” I asked helplessly. “I can’t—I don’t want to lose him, Amy. I need to get things figured out before I can deal with that.”

“Then why are you making me wake him up at all?” Amy asked, a hint of bitterness lending an edge to her voice. “Why not just leave him in that coma until you have the inclination to deal with him?”

“It’s not that simple. He deserves better than—”

“He deserves better than you _manipulating_ him! Haven’t you done enough of that lately?”

I flinched. Amy took a step back, almost startled.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, putting a hand over her mouth. “I don’t—I didn’t mean that.”

“No, you did. And you were right.” I swallowed. “How did your dinner with Carol go?”

“…Well. I think—I really think we might be able to put together something like… like a real mother-daughter relationship. It’ll never be what she and—and Vicky had. But it’ll be something. Maybe.”

“That’s good. That’s wonderful.” Almost unbidden, a faint smile came to my lips. “I’m happy for you, Amy.”

“Taylor.” Amy’s face hardened suddenly. “Having a family, having a decent relationship with their parents—it’s not something that happens to _other people_.”

I met her eyes. “It’s different for me,” I said, thinking of the white shores of Aman.

“Yeah?” Amy asked caustically. “Me too. Or were you also adopted by the hero who threw your biological father into the birdcage?”

“That’s… not the same.”

“Maybe not. I don’t really understand your… situation. But really—if _I_ can manage to wrangle a decent relationship with _Carol_ , you can do the same.” She reached out again and put both hands on my shoulders. “But you have to try. You’ll never be able to connect with him if you don’t let him connect with you.”

I swallowed. “I’m…” I grimaced, trying to find the words. “…I don’t know if I can think of Danny Hebert as my father anymore.”

She considered me. “I… kinda want to ask why,” she admitted. “But I won’t. I’ll just say that I don’t think of Carol as my mom. That’s not stopping me from trying to build _something_ with her.”

I met her eyes. I chewed my lip for a few seconds before sighing and nodding. “I guess you’re right.”

Her lips twitched. “Call it doctor’s orders. Now get in there and talk to him— _honestly_. Dad or otherwise.”

I smiled at her. “Okay. Thank you.”

I passed her and slipped into the little room. Dad lay there in the bed, the white sheets draped over him. His chest rose and fell slowly. His face was a healthy, warm tone, but his brow was ever so slightly furrowed.

I sat in the little chair beside the bed, and watched him sleep.

There was a vase on the end table, filled with wilting flowers. They must have been sent by one of Dad’s friends from the Dockworker’s Union—I hadn’t brought them. I wished I had. Not today—to bring flowers only now, only to be seen, would have been… vile. I wished I had _been_ bringing flowers. I wished that this wasn’t the first time I had seen my dad’s face in a month.

I wished I was a better person. I wished I was a better daughter. I wished I had been there for him, even half as much as these friends I didn’t even know.

The curtains were pulled aside, and the midmorning light streamed in from the sky outside. I turned away, looking out the window. We were several stories up, but the surrounding buildings still obscured most of the skyline.

There was a shifting beside me. I looked back. Dad was stirring, his eyelids fluttering.

For a moment, profound dread crept over me. I was possessed of a desire to flee—whether by actually leaving the room, or by Singing the man in the bed back into slumber.

I resisted. I bit my tongue, and watched as, slowly, his eyes drifted open. They lingered on the ceiling for a moment, blinking blearily, before visibly sharpening. They turned to me, and our eyes met.

Dad licked his lips, his tongue sluggish. When he spoke, his voice was cracked and rough with disuse. “Taylor…?”

I wanted to say something but had nothing to say. I just watched him, mute and still, uncertain.

He struggled for a moment to sit up, but he was too weak after a month in bed. “Taylor—I’m so—”

“Stop.” The word forced itself out from deep inside.

His mouth closed immediately. Our gazes remained locked. After a moment, I looked away.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But—that’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes…?”

“I can’t have another by-the-numbers conversation,” I said, and in that moment it was true. “I can’t go through this, knowing your every response, knowing exactly what to say to make things better. So forget everything you want to say. I know you’re sorry. I know you didn’t mean it, that you were mastered, that even as you took the Ring from my finger you hated yourself. I know. I knew even as it was happening.”

He stared at me. His eyes were dampening slightly, glistening in the morning light, but he kept his composure. “Then what do you want to do?”

“What I need, right now,” I said quietly, “is for you to listen. Listen, and don’t speak. Don’t make a sound. I need to explain—to explain as if I don’t know how it’ll affect you, to tell the story as if in confession. I need to explain what happened as I understand it, not in the form that’ll be easiest for you to swallow. Because I need you to be more than a sockpuppet, regurgitating the ideas I’ve allowed you to take in. I need—I need us to be honest with each other. Can you do that for me? Just—just listen?”

“Okay,” he promised. “Take your time. I’ll listen.”

“It’s more than that,” I said, shaking my head. “I need you not to say anything. Not a word, not even a sound. I’m not even going to look at you. Anything you say, anything you do, any reaction I pick up on—it’s all a temptation. If I see that something’s bothering you, I’m going to have to fight to keep going without trying to soften the blow. But I _can’t_ soften it, don’t you see? I need to be _honest_ this time. So, please—no words. Just listen.”

For a moment, I thought he would speak, but he didn’t. Whatever he wanted to say, he swallowed it down, and responded with only a mute nod.

“Thank you.” I closed my eyes for a moment, letting my thoughts drift back. It took me a minute to wrench my head into place, but at last I began. “You’ve been in an induced coma for a month.” As I spoke, I turned away from him, staring out the window. I couldn’t see his reactions—couldn’t see the disgust or the horror on his face. Not if I wanted to finish what I was now starting. “Not because you needed to be—we captured Heartbreaker in about a week, and I mastered him immediately and had him remove your programming. Amy had already healed you by then. You could have been woken up that day. But I wasn’t ready to face you. I was angry, I was hurt—and I was ashamed. I still am all of those things, but mostly I’m ashamed now.”

I talked for a long time. I told him about the attack on Heartbreaker, about the children I had killed, the women I had allowed to die. I told him about Dragon, and how I had twisted her into my devoted killer. I told him about Coil, and how I had permitted him to serve me even as the Ring eroded his mind. I told him about Valefor, and how Dragon and I had carved a path of merciless blood down into the Endbringer shelter and killed him as he begged for mercy. I told him how the ABB and the Empire had fallen silent after that, trying to wait out the storm.

I told him about Sophia’s rebellion, and how I had sent Amy to quell it. I told him about Nilbog, and the expression of deep, horrified hopelessness on Polka’s face as I had slaughtered every last creature in Ellisburg. I told him about the attack on Coil’s base. I told him about the fight with Sophia.

“And I swung,” I said, my voice cracking. “That should’ve been the end of it. I should have killed her then. But she was granted a miracle, and she brought Narsil up in time to block. The sword shattered, and the fragments struck me. And it was like—like the sun peeking out from behind the mountains, or like the first drop of rain in a thunderstorm. I remembered everything, even the parts I wanted to forget. I remembered every part of—of the person I used to be.

“I’m not human. I never have been, really. I was reborn as one, but who I am— _what_ I am—is older. We were called Maia, and I was—well, I had a lot of names. I was Mairon, once. _The Admirable_. Then I was Annatar—the _Lord of Gifts_. But in the end I was Sauron, _The Abhorred_. The enemy of all free peoples, the Lord of the Land of Shadow.

“And in the end, in that old world, it was Narsil that brought me low. And it played out the old story again. But this time there was no One Ring to cut from my finger, there was no great weakness to exploit—and wonderful as she is, Sophia is just one woman. Isildur had Elendil and Gil-galad beside him, and was the only one of those three to survive the fight.

“So she was left without a weapon, and I was left with a choice. Carry on, knowingly—remembering everything I had once been, everything I was becoming again, and knowing where that road had once led—or turn aside, and face the unknown.

“I chose right. But it wasn’t that easy.”

I told him about Noelle, about how redemption wasn’t as easy as just _wanting_ to be better. I told him about how Sophia had held me, there in the van, even as I railed and screamed at the injustice, at the horror. I told him about how she alone had managed to steer me back onto the path.

“I owe her everything,” I admitted. “Maybe _everyone_ owes her everything. I can’t even imagine what kind of horrors I might have inflicted on the world, if she hadn’t stopped me. But no—that’s a lie. I _can_ imagine it.” Images of a land choked by fire and ash filled my vision for a moment.

“And that’s where we are now,” I said at last. “I’ve reforged Narsil as Amauril, the Flame of the East, and returned it into Sophia’s keeping. And—and I knew I had to face what I’d done to you. I’ve been keeping you here, helpless, for a month. Just because I didn’t want to face you. Even once I decided to wake you up, I didn’t want to have this conversation. But I have to. I can’t just go halfway on this. I need to be honest. With you and with myself.”

I swallowed. “And… that’s all I have. That’s me. In the past month I’ve gone from hero to monster, and then to… whatever I am now. And you’ve been gone for all of it, just because I was scared.

“Do you understand now why I didn’t want to hear you tell me you’re sorry? It’d be meaningless. You’re sorry for what you did to a little girl who doesn’t exist—maybe _never_ existed. I’m what you’ve got now, and you didn’t even see me come into my own. And that’s not your fault. It’s mine. So—so I’m sorry. For leaving you here like this for so long. And I’m sorry for what’s happened to your daughter.”

At long last, I allowed myself to look back at him. His eyes were red, his cheeks stained with tears which had tracked down them. I had been talking for almost an hour, and the sun which had only begun to approach its zenith when I began was now reaching into the early afternoon.

I swallowed. “You can speak now,” I said. “If you want.”

He raised a shaking hand. I didn’t know whether it shook because of his frailty, or because of my story. “Taylor,” he murmured. “Do you—am I still your father?”

Of all the things he could have said, somehow that one never crossed my mind. The question struck me like a club to the belly. It practically knocked the wind out of me, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe. “I don’t…” I swallowed. For a moment I stared at him. “I remember being brought into existence at the beginning of time,” I said quietly. “The last person—if He is a person—I called Father drowned an entire continent in order to destroy my body. You’re—you’re not Him. You’re nothing like Him.”

“It’s God, isn’t it? You’re an—you’re an angel.”

“…In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Dad looked away, his red eyes staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. “How could I ever be… be a father to you?” he wondered, as if to himself. “I was a terrible father even when you were just… just Taylor.”

_Even when you were just Taylor._ But that was my name. I was _still_ Taylor. I certainly wasn’t Mairon, and I was trying very, very hard not to be Sauron.

Danny Hebert might not be my Father… but maybe he could be my father. Maybe he could be my dad.

I reached out and took his hand. “You weren’t so bad,” I said.

His eyes met mine. Tears welled up in them. “You think?”

I leaned down and took him in my arms. He was stick-thin, and I was sure I could break him accidentally if I shifted too quickly. I was careful not to do that. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I think—I think I’d like it, if you—if I could keep calling you ‘Dad.’ If that’s okay with you.”

His arms gingerly stretched around me. Though he was too weak to do it properly, I knew he was trying to squeeze me tight. “It’s okay with me,” he said, and there was a damp laugh in his voice. “I love you, Taylor.”

I smiled, and found suddenly that I was crying too. “I love you too, Dad.”


	109. Resplendent 12.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly shorter than my usual minimum of 2,000 words. It was cut down during editing.  
> Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

“Hey, Taylor.” Dennis glanced up at me from the laptop on the table in front of him.

“Hey, Dennis.” I sank into the couch beside him, leaning back, my eyes drifting shut.

“How’d things go with your dad?” he asked.

“Really well,” I said, a smile crossing my lips. “We talked. He’s… he’s trying to keep up, and I’m trying to let him. It’s not going to be easy, but it’ll be worth it.”

Dennis was silent for a moment. “Yeah,” he agreed at last. “Yeah, it will.”

I turned my head to study him, my brow furrowing. “Is there something wrong?”

He made a noise in the back of his throat, his fingers tapping against the chassis of his computer. “It’s... things are okay. A little tense, still.”

“With your dad? Why?”

He didn’t look at me. “He wanted to pull me out of the Wards,” he said. “When we were fighting Valefor and Heartbreaker, and while we were shutting down the rest of the city’s crime. He thought it was too dangerous.”

I considered him. “If you were a normal boy, he’d have been right,” I said. “Even a normal cape, maybe.”

Dennis snorted. “No such thing,” he retorted. “Besides—I’m _not_. I’m a Ring-Bearer. If I wasn’t a Ward, if I hadn’t stuck with you, _he’d_ still be dying of terminal cancer.”

“He was just worried about you, Dennis.”

Dennis’ lips twisted, as if something bitter was on his tongue. “That’s not what bothers me.”

“I know.” And I did. “He doesn’t understand.”

“He doesn’t even _want_ to understand.” Dennis rubbed at his eyes. “And when I say that—when I try to tell him that he’s not getting it, I sound like an angsty teenager. He just tunes me out. But it’s not like that.” He sighed. Then, gripped by a sudden impulse, he stood up and walked a few paces away from the couch, before turning back to me. “Why did you give us these Rings?” he asked, holding up his left hand. On his index finger, Silmaya twinkled silver. “With the Three, you were more careful. You took your time to find the _right_ bearers. Was it just luck that the Seven’s _right_ bearers were all in the Wards, or were you less careful?”

“Neither,” I admitted. “The Seven are different, Dennis. The Three were each unique, from the very beginning. They were designed without my input. The Seven were always intended to be more… open-ended. They draw their unique potential from _your_ uniqueness, not the other way around.”

Dennis pursed his lips. “There had to be better choices,” he said lowly, staring at the glimmering band. “We were— _are_ —children. Except maybe Vista and Sophia, none of us had even seen much serious combat before. You had to have better options than us.”

I smiled slightly. “Better how?”

He frowned, his eyes darting to my face. “I don’t know. Older? More experienced? More powerful?”

“I didn’t need any of those,” I said.

“Then why?”

“You were my friends,” I said simply. “The first I’d had in a long time. I trusted you. There was no one else I could say that about. There still aren’t many.”

He sighed. “That feels… is that really a good reason for giving us this kind of power?”

“I don’t know,” I said, spreading my arms to the sides. “I suppose that depends on what you do with it. I certainly don’t regret my decision. And I can’t say that about many of the decisions I’ve made lately.”

His lips twitched. “I guess that’s comforting,” he said.

“I hope it is,” I said. “But I understand how it might not be much comfort to your dad.”

“Yeah.”

“But he _will_ get it, Dennis,” I assured him. “I’m sure of it. One day, he’ll look at you and instead of the child you were, he’ll see the man you’re becoming.”

Dennis closed his eyes. “You think?”

“I do,” I said. “I’ve seen it before.”

Dennis swallowed. “All right.” He smiled at me, a frail, tenuous expression. “For what it’s worth—I’m glad we’re easing off. I was happy to follow you while we cleaned up the city, but I was having to ignore some misgivings.”

“Everyone was,” I agreed. “You’re a good man, Dennis. It was against your nature, and I’m sorry for putting you through that.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t…” Then he hesitated. “…Well, I’m sorry too,” he said at last. “Sorry that none of us were able to see how much you were hurting, or to help. Except Sophia, of course.”

I smiled. “I owe her everything,” I agreed. “But—don’t blame yourself, Dennis. It’s in the past, anyway. Tomorrow looks brighter.”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Yeah, it does.”

* * *

 

The days passed. Dad grew stronger with each sunrise. Color returned to his face, meat returned to his bony frame. Within a week he was walking again.

“He’ll be fit to go home in a couple days,” Amy told me over dinner. “By that time, his metabolism should have normalized again, too, so he won’t have to be shoveling down twice as much food as usual.”

“Thank you, Amy,” I said. “I really appreciate it—all of it.”

She grinned at me. “Glad to be of service,” she said.

At that moment, Shaper slipped into the seat beside her. Their brow was furrowed as they prodded at the meatloaf on their cafeteria tray with a fork. “Amy,” they said, “do you enjoy this?”

Amy blinked at them. “Uh… I guess it’s fine? It’s not _great_. It’s cafeteria meatloaf, what do you expect?”

Shaper pursed their lips. They reached out suddenly, a sharp movement, and touched Amy’s cheek. Then they nodded and scooped a generous helping onto their fork. “I like it,” they decided. “Intriguing.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Shaper took their bite and spoke while they chewed. “Our bodies are identical,” they said. “Down to the neural structure—though, of course, the prefrontal cortex had to be modified to allow the signal to more directly traverse from the gemma. Our tastes in food should be identical. They are not.”

“That _is_ weird,” Amy agreed, frowning at her power. “Any guesses as to why?”

“I would assume that the neural modifications made to the prefrontal cortex of this body had ripple effects,” said Shaper, taking another bite. “But neither of us can see both of our brains to compare.”

“Speaking of which, why can’t we?” Amy asked. “I’d have thought, with you being the _actual power_ , that you’d be able to break your own Manton limit.”

Shaper shook their head. “The Manton limits, and other curtailments of our abilities, were imposed upon us when we were released to seek human vessels,” they said. “I could no more break them than you could fly, though Nenya does give me some freedom.”

“Why?” I asked.

Shaper blinked at me. “Hmm?”

“Why did the Warrior limit your powers like that?” I asked.

“The reasons vary by Shard,” said Shaper, rolling a pea around their plate with their fork. “In my case, the reasons were twofold. The ability to modify the flesh of their kind was curtailed—though not totally removed—in an attempt to prevent me becoming a threat. The ability to modify my host’s biology was removed to prevent the host from either killing themselves or becoming too powerful to provide useful data.”

“How would being able to modify my own biology make me suicidal?” Amy asked blankly.

“I did not say it would be deliberate,” said Shaper, and their ink-black eyes seemed to deepen somehow. “It could be something as simple as forgetting to include enough lung capacity to support your body, or failing to implement the necessary fail-safes for heart palpitations. In addition, there was the possibility that you might modify your own gemma or corona pollentia, which would have been problematic at best.”

“I guess I can see that,” Amy admitted.

“But _you_ can act on Amy’s body?” I asked. “And vice-versa?”

Shaper nodded. “One of the many ways in which Nenya has afforded me further freedom,” they said. “I am _individual_ , now. Thus, I have my own individuated limits.” They glared down at their tray. “I do not like these,” they declared, spearing a pea with their fork. It splattered against the plastic surface. “They are tasteless and uncomfortable to chew.”

“They’re good for you,” Amy said automatically.

“Yes, yes,” Shaper said impatiently. “Carbohydrate fibers, Vitamins A and C, et cetera. I still do not like them.”

“Tough nuts,” said Amy dryly. “I’m not trimming your weight down if you eat too much junk food.”

Shaper’s black eyes narrowed. “You did it for Vicky,” they accused.

For a moment, I tensed, worried that the sudden reference would make trouble. But Amy, after only a minute hesitation, just rolled her eyes. “I don’t like you as much,” she told her power.

Shaper stuck their tongue out at Amy, and then reluctantly began to eat their greens.

* * *

 

The knock on my forge came as a surprise. Generally, the only people who visited me in my workshop were Sophia and Dragon, and neither of them knocked, as a rule. I halted my hammering at the steel. “Come in!” I called.

There was a pause, and then the door opened. “I need a word.”

I turned, setting my hammer down on the workbench, on a mound of the gathered shards of Búrzashdurb. They made a soft, gravelly crunch as the weight fell upon them. “All right,” I said. “What is it, Genesis?”

Genesis considered me for a moment. She was looking up at me, and yet her hard gaze still managed to pierce me like a fly on the wall. “A week and a half ago, Sundancer and I decided to stay here in order to do some good with our powers,” she said. “Maybe make up for some of the crap we caused. Now, we’ve enjoyed the break, but—”

“...When do we start?” I finished for her.

“Yeah. That.”

“I suppose I haven’t exactly been quick on the draw,” I admitted with a rueful smile. “I’ve been recovering.”

“I get that,” said Genesis. “Really, I do. But it feels like we’re _all_ sitting around twiddling our thumbs. Sure, we’re _patrolling_ , and I’m glad Sundancer and I are at least on the patrol rotation with the rest of you. But when are we going to _do_ something?”

I thought about that for a moment. “There’s a few things in the air right now,” I said, partly to myself. “Eidolon is off chasing his clones, the ones that escaped when Noelle died. If he finds them, he may want our help taking them down. Then again, he’s not the type to ask for help.”

“A couple weeks back, you went after Nilbog,” said Genesis. “From what I’ve heard, you regret how you took him down. Sure. But can’t we go after some other villain group? The Fallen? The Teeth? The Slaughterhouse Nine? You’ve pretty much emptied this town.”

“The Empire is picking itself up,” I countered. “They’ve realized that I’ve settled down, and they’re starting to come out of hiding again. And Lung is still unaccounted for.”

“Then send us after them,” said Genesis. “But do _something_. We’re getting—”

At that moment, my phone chimed in my pocket. I pulled it out.

It was an alert from Sophia. Her location, along with one word. _Empire_.

My expression must have darkened visibly, because Genesis immediately asked, “What’s wrong?”

“You want to do something?” I asked. “Come on. The Empire is attacking Sophia—out of costume.”


End file.
